THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


e))5 


BOOKSTACKS 


OONTEISTTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I. — A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE 21 

II.— FAMILY  HISTORY,  AND  PRESENTIMENTS 37 

III. — GOOD  RESOLUTIONS  VS.  TEMPTATION 62 

IV. — A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS 91 

V. — A BASE  DECEPTION 114 

VI. — THE  FORGED  LETTERS 122 

VII.— rp:velation  of  a girl’s  heart 136 

VIII.— THE  lady’s  tarn 148 

IX.— the  die  is  cast 174 

X.  — THE  BETROTHAL 180 

XI. — THE  WARNING  VERIFIED 197 

XII.— GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER 217 

XIII. — THE  HASTY  MARRIAGE 230 

XIV. — THE  FLIGHT 240 

XV. — FATHER  JEROME 257 

XVI.— ANDREW  COURTNAY’S  FURT 264 

XVII.— THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY 284 

XVIII.— THE  EXPLOSION 301 

XIX.— ADA  DIGBY 309 

XX. — COLONEL  THORNE’S  SECRET 332 

19 


20  , .it  c'dNTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI. — A STRANGE  PROPOSAL .... 338 

XXII.— CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION $ 353 

XXIII. — THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL 373 

XXIV. —THE  wife’s  DISCOVERY 390 

XXV. — THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES 405 

XXVI. — CLAIRE’S  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY 430 

XXVIL— CLAIRE  AT  BOMB 439 


TIE  CLANDESTINE  MAREIAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE, 


TRAVELLER  on  foot  was  passing  through  a wild 


JTjl  mountain  gorge  in  which  he  had  ventured  in 
search  of  the  picturesque.  He  had  been  many  weeks 
wandering  through  the  grand  scenery  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  sketch-book  in  hand,  and  his  portfolio  contained 
many  studies  that  would  have  been  valuable  to  one  who 
really  belonged  to  the  craft  this  spoiled  child  of  for- 
tune had  chosen,  for  the  time,  to  adopt  as  his  own  to 
give  piquancy  to  his  summer  rambles. 

His  lithe  and  active  figure,  his  debonair  air,  and 
finely  cut  features,  might  have  rendered  him  the  beau 
ideal  of  a young  artist  to  the  romantic  fancy  of  an 
inexperienced  girl,  but  to  those  who  could  read  char- 
acter, those  smiling  lips  and  sparkling  eyes  betrayed 
something  more  than  the  gay  carelessness  of  youth. 
The  dark  silky  moustache  that  curled  above  the  for- 
mer, did  not  conceal  the  sensuous  fulness  of  the 
mouth,  nor  could  the  smile  that  lurked  in  the  vivid 
black  eyes  veil  the  hard  expression  that  at  momenta 
shone  from  them. 


22 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MABBIAGB. 


He  carried  his  portfolio  and  portable  stool  strapped 
upon  his  back,  but  his  step  was  as  buoyant  as  if  no 
such  burden  rested  upon  him.  He  sang  as  he  went,  in 
a deep  musical  voice,  which  was  echoed  back  from  the 
sides  of  the  narrow  caiion  through  which  he  was 
making  his  way.  The  rocky  walls  arose  sheer  and 
smooth  above  his  head,  with  patches  of  parasitic  plants 
clinging  to  them,  and  beneath  his  feet  was  the  narrow 
rocky  bed  of  a stream,  that  sometimes  swelled  sudden- 
ly into  a torrent.  Now,  it  was  but  a shallow  thread  of 
water,  and  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  that  a heavy 
shower  would  in  a few  moments  render  the  desolate 
gorge  a most  dangerous  trap  to  be  caught  in. 

Our  pedestrian  was  willing  to  risk  much  to  obtain  a 
striking  study  from  nature,  and  he  had  received  more 
than  one  assurance  that  the  valley  into  which  this 
rocky  gorge  led,  was  as  magnificent  a view,  as  the 
mountains  of  Virginia  afforded. 

Suddenly  the  music  of  his  voice  was  drowned  by  a 
loud,  sharp  peal  of  thunder,  that  reverberated  through 
the  defile  with  almost  deafening  power.  He  paused 
abruptly,  and  muttered : 

This  is  bad — bad — a storm  sweeping  through  this 
narrow  gulch,  will  take  me  from  my  feet,  perhaps 
drown  me  in  the  torrent  that  may  pour  through  it  be- 
fore I can  effect  my  escape,”  and  he  glanced  ruefully  at 
the  limestone  walls  that  enclosed  him,  and  with  dismay 
saw  that  the  high  water  mark  was  far  above  his  head. 

Walter  Thorne  had  been  warned  when  he  spoke  of 
venturing  through  this  narrow  pass,  that  the  slender 
stream  which  flowed  over  its  rocky  bed,  might  swell 
into  a miniature  torrent  if  a storm  arose,  but  he  had 
not  heeded  the  words  of  his  host  of  the  previous  night. 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  23 

The  gorge  afforded  a short  cut  to  the  point  he  wished 
to  reach,  and  with  characteristic  recklessness  he  had 
chosen  to  risk  his  chances,  though  assured  that  sud- 
den and  violent  storms  were  frequent  at  that  sultry 
season  of  the  year. 

Now,  it  was  too  late  to  return  , he  knew’  that  he  was 
more  than  half  w^ay  through  the  pass,  and  his  only 
chance  of  safety  lay  in  accomplishing  tlie  remainder  of 
the  distance  before  the  storm  burst  over  him,  and  the 
stream  could  rise  to  a height  to  endanger  him. 

He  pressed  forward  as  rapidly  as  the  roughness  of 
the  road  permitted,  but  very  soon  the  rain  came  down 
so  heavily  as  to  resemble  the  fall  of  a cataract,  more 
than  a summer  shower  ; the  thunder  crashed  incessantly 
above  him,  and  the  lightning  darted  down  the  narrow 
defile  with  such  vivid  power  as  almost  to  blind  him. 

The  wanderer  looked  around  for  some  spot  in  which 
to  shelter  himself,  but  he  could  descry  none,  for  the 
rocky  strata  in  their  upheaval,  seemed  to  have  been 
rent  asunder  by  some  mighty  convulsion  of  nature, 
leaving  the  sides  of  the  gorge  a smooth  wall  of  lime- 
stone, towering  a hundred  feet  above  him. 

But  Walter  Thorne  battled  with  the  rapidly  increas- 
ing dangers  that  surrounded  him,  with  a tenacity  and 
bravery  which  proved  that  he  had  not  lost  his'self- 
command,  and  did  not  intend  to  lose  his  life  if  coolness, 
and  presence  of  mind  could  save  it.  The  water  was 
rising  above  the.  narrow  path  on  which  he  walked,  each 
moment  increasing  its  momentum,  and  he  knew  that  in 
a little  while  he  would  be  unable  to  resist  its  violent 
sweep.  He  had  yet  more  than  a mile  to  traverse  before 
he  could  gain  the  point  from  which  he  was  aware  the 
gathering  waters  would  fall  over  beetling  crags  into  a 


24 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


subterranean  reservoir  many  feet  below  ; from  this 
tarn  he  had  been  assured,  nothing  ever  arose  that  was 
once  swallowed  in  its  remorseless  depths. 

His  blood  turned  to  ice  as  he  remembered  this,  but 
hope  came  back  as  he  thought  that  one  chance  of  safety 
remained  to  him.  He  had  in  his  portfolio,  an  accurate 
drawing  of  the  point  of  debouchement,  which  had  been 
given  to  him  by  one  of  his  brother  artists  who  had 
visited  this  wild  spot  the  previous  year.  He  knew  that 
a large  boulder  arose  at  the  extremity  of  the  pass,  di- 
viding the  water  that  rushed  through  it  in  two  streams 
before  they  fell  in  the  tarn  below,  and  into  one  of  these 
jutted  a narrow  tongue  of  land  on  which  grew  stunted 
hemlocks  and  pines.  Thorne  trusted  to  his  strength 
and  activity  to  grasp  at  these  as  he  was  whirled  along, 
and  again  make  good  his  footing  on  terra  firma. 

He  was  a strong  swimmer,  and  as  the  water  gained 
on  him,  increasing  each  moment  in  force,  he  unstrap- 
ped his  burden,  and  with  a sigh,  saw  the  fruit  of  his 
labors  swept  past  him,  and  whirled  out  of  sight  in  a 
moment  of  time. 

His  next  movement  was  to  catch  dextrously  at  a 
floating  log  which  was  dashed  madly  towards  him, 
threatening  to  crush  him  against  the  rocky  sides  of  liis 
prison.  In  another  moment  he  was  astride  of  it,  with 
a broken  bough  in  his  hands,  which  was  also  a waif 
from  the  angry  waters.  With  this  he  was  to  battle 
his  way  to  safety,  and  as  far  as  possible,  shield  himself 
from  the  dangers  that  encompassed  him ; for  heavy 
drift  wood  came  rushing  down  on  the  mad  tide,  which 
increased  in  depth  and  velocity  with  every  moment, 
and  it  required  all  the  dexterity  and  skill  at  his  com- 
mand, to  save  himself  from  a fatal  collision  with  them. 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


25 


But  his  self-possession  and  courage  did  not  for  a mo- 
ment desert  him  ; for  on  these  he  knew  the  preserva- 
tion of  his  life  depended.  With  coolness  and  precision 
he  steered  the  broad  log  oh  which  he  sat,  and  luckily 
for  him  a few  gnarled  and  withered  branches  still  jut- 
ted from  its  sides,  affording  some  protection  to  his  limbs 
from  the  drift-wood  that  surged  upon  the  turbid  tide. 

Thorne  knew  that  the  struggle  could  not  be  long 
continued,  for  the  velocity  with  which  he  was  hurried 
oiiAvard  must  soon  bring  him  to  the  outlet  where  the 
greatest  danger  must  be  met  and  baffled,  or  the  deep 
waters  would  close  over  him,  leaving  no  record  behind 
them,  and  his  fate  remain  a mystery  to  the  end  of  time. 

He  set  his  teeth  firmly  together,  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
the  seething  flood,  warding  off  every  threatened  dan- 
ger, yet  reserving  his  strength  as  much  as  possible  for 
the  crowning  effort  that  he  knew  must  task  all  the 
powers  he  possessed.  In  spite  of  the  imminent  danger 
in  which  he  was,  to  this  man  there  was  a wild  sense  of 
power  and  enjoyment  in  this  mad  struggle  for  exis- 
tence. He  would  yet  baffle  the  might  of  the  elements, 
and  conquer  the  seething  torrent  that  seemed  to  roar 
in  his  ears : 

You  are  mine — you  cannot  escape  me.  Down — 
down  with  the  whelming  tide  shall  you  go,  and  be  seen 
no  more  among  men.” 

Reckless  of  its  power,  he  could  have  shouted  back 
defiance,  had  he  dared  to  exhaust  his  breath  in  such 
vain  mockery  of  nature’s  might.  He  knew  that  he 
must  reserve  every  atom  of  strength  for  that  last  su- 
preme effort  to  escape  the  doom  that  menaced  him  ; 
so  he  sternly  closed  his  lips,  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
widening  gleam  of  light  which  assured  him  that  the 


26  THE  CLANDESTI^TE  MARRIAGE. 

supreme  moment  approached,  and  prepared  himself 
for  the  awful  crisis  in  his  destiny. 

Never  once  did  he  invoke  the  aid  of  a higher  power 
amid  the  perils  that  surrounded  him,  for  the  name  of 
God  was  unfamiliar  to  his  lips,  as  were  His  precepts  to 
his  heart.  Of  ‘‘the  earth,  earthy,”  had  he  gone  down 
to  destruction  amid  that  turmoil  of  the  elements,  it 
had  been  better  for  others,  perhaps  as  well  for  him- 
self. 

As  the  frail  support  on  which  he  sat  drew  near  the 
verge  of  the  fall,  the  velocity  of  the  swelling  flood  in- 
creased ; and,  for  an  instant,  the  despairing  thought 
came  to  him  that  his  fate  was  beyond  his  own  control  ; 
another  moment,  and  he  would  be  crushed  upon  the 
ruthless  rocks  and  dashed,  shapeless  and  senseless,  into 
the  abyss  below. 

But  the  very  imminence  of  the  danger  restored  his 
courage.  He  steadied  his  position  upon  his  frail  sup- 
port, and  made  herculean  efl^orts  to  guide  it  toward 
the  tuft  of  hemlocks  which  grew  upon  the  scanty  soil 
which  had  collected  on  the  rocky  surface  in  the  pro- 
gress of  ages. 

All  his  efforts  would  have  been  unavailing  but  for  a 
sudden  curve  made  by  the  torrent  in  the  direction  he 
wished  to  take.  The  immense  rock  imbedded  near  the 
edge  of  the  fall  divided  the  waters  and,  as  they  struck 
against  it,  an  eddy  was  formed  which,  luckily  for  him, 
dashed  him  within  reach  of  the  scrubby  trees  which 
were  partially  submerged. 

AVith  an  effort  of  almost  supernatural  strength 
Thorne  sprang  toward  them,  grasped  the  branches 
with  all  his  force  and,  in  spite  of  the  wild  waves  that 
^eethed  around  him,  suceeded  in  retaining  his  hold  till 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


27 


he  had  extricated  himself  from  the  log  which,  the  next 
instant,  was  dashed  over  the  brow  of  the  precipice. 

In  another  moment  he  lay  panting  and  breathless  on 
a small  mound  of  earth  lifted  above  the  leaping  waters 
with  boulders  of  rock  heaped  up  behind  it.  He  grew 
faint  and  sick  as  he  watched  the  log  that  had  borne  him 
to  safety,  crash  through  the  narrow  pass  and  disappear 
in  the  depths  below  ; and  for  once  he  cried,  Thank 
God  ! ” for  the  imminent  danger  he  had  escaped. 

Bruised  and  exhausted  by  his  late  efforts  Thorne  had 
barely  strength  left  to  draw  himself  gradually  upward 
and  sit  down  upon  the  damp  grass  at  the  foot  of  the 
rocks.  His  right  arm  pained  him  severely  and  he  felt 
certain  that  he  had  seriously  injured  it ; but  whither 
to  go  for  assistance  or  what  to  do  next  he  could  not  yet 
determine.  He  was  a stranger  in  the  country — a mere 
sojourner — and  the  thought  of  being  ill  among  the  rude 
people  who,  he  supposed,  inhabited  the  secluded  valley 
he  had  sought,  with  no  intention  of  remaining  in  it 
more  than  a few  hours,  was  extremely  annoying  to 
him. 

He  began  to  shiver  in  his  wet  clothes,  and  a few  im- 
precations escaped  his  lips  against  his  own  willfulness 
in  venturing  through  this  dangerous  gorge  in  defiance 
of  all  that  had  been  told  him  of  the  perils  he  might 
encounter. 

With  bitter  philosophy  Thorne,  at  length,  muttered  : 

‘ What  can’t  be  cured  must  be  endured,’  as  my  old 
nurse  used  to  say  to  me.  I am  fond  of  adventure,  but 
this  is  more  than  I bargained  for.  Wet  as  a drowne  ] 
rat,  hungry  as  a wolf,  and' — to  cap  the  climax — with  a 
disabled  arm ! Ugh,  what  a twinge  that  was  ! It 
pains  confoundedly,  and  where  or  how  I am  to  get  it 


28 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


attended  to  the  d only  knows.  I wish  the  rain 

would  cease  and  allow  me,  at  least,  a glimpse  of  the 
scenery  I have  risked  so  much  to  behold.” 

Almost  as  he  spoke  the  rain  began  to  slacken,  and 
ill  a few  more  moments,  the  clouds  parted,  letting 
through  a glimpse  of  sunlight  that  lit  up  the  whole 
panorama  with  sudden  glory.  The  thunder  rolled 
away  in  the  distance,  the  lightning  flashed  at  longer 
intervals,  and  gradually  the  turmoil  of  the  elements 
ceased. 

The  mist  that  shrouded  the  valley  below  him  rolled 
away  ; and,  suffering  as  he  was,  the  young  traveller 
acknowledged  that  the  scene  before  him  was  almost 
worth  what  he  had  encountered  in  his  pilgrimage 
toward  it. 

His  vision  extended  over  miles  of  broken  country 
girdled  in  by  mountains  veiled  in  bluish  mist,  which 
rose  above  each  other  till  they  seemed  almost  to  reach 
the  clouds.  A narrow  thread  of  gleaming  water 
wound  its  way  through  the  deepest  portion  of  the  vale, 
and  on  its  banks  stood  the  ruins  of  what  seemed  once 
to  have  been  a stately  mansion  which  had  been 
partially  destroyed  by  fire. 

But  one  wing  of  it  still  remained,  and  with  extreme 
satisfaction  the  drenched  traveller  saw  that  smoke  was 
issuing  from  one  of  the  chimneys.  Several  miles  away 
he  could  distinguish  the  buildings  of  a large  planta- 
tion ; but  those  were  the  only  evidences  of  habitation 
discovered  by  him  in  the  solitary  glen  that  lay  stretch- 
ed out  below  him. 

With  an  appreciative  glance  at  the  scene,  Thorne 
arose  and  muttered : 

“ It  is  as  fine  as  Vernon  said,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


29 


I shall  pay  too  heavy  a price  for  a sight  of  it.  I must 
not  stay  here  admiring  the  beauties  of  nature  while  a 
chill  like  death  is  penetrating  to  my  very  marrow.  It’s 
a lucky  thing  for  me  that  a shelter  is  near.  It  does 
not  look  very  prepossessing,  but,  such  as  it  is,  I must 
try  my  luck  with  its  owners.” 

While  speaking  thus,  he  looked  around  for  some 
means  of  descending  into  the  valley,  and  he  soon  dis- 
covered a narrow  pathway  leading  around  the  edge  of 
the  stone  wall,  which  ended  abruptly  there.  A few 
paces  brought  him  to  a flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  soft 
limestone,  which  wound  gradually  downward  till  they 
reached  the  verdant  turf  below. 

Walter  Thorne  cautiously  descended  the  rough  way ; 
for,  more  than  once,  his  usually  clear  head  became 
giddy  from  fatigue  and  over  exertion.  On  reaching 
the  earth  below,  he  leaned  for  a few  moments  against 
a tree  and  surveyed  the  peaceful  spot  so  lately  the 
scene  of  the  fierce  tui*moil  of  the  elements,  now  as  se- 
rene as  if  no  storm  had  ever  swept  over  it. 

The  clouds  had  swept  aside,  and  the  evening  sun 
poured  through  the  rifts  in  a flood  of  golden  glory ; a 
magnificent  rainbow  spanned  the  valley,  its  gorgeous 
tints  harmonizing  with  the  emerald  turf  which  arose  in 
great  billows  like  natural  terraces,  till  they  met  the 
mountains  that  girdled  them  in,  bathed  in  the  blue 
mist  which  has  given  its  name  to  a range  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies. 

From  the  precipitous  cliff  above  him  poured  the 
stream  in  which  he  had  so  nearly  lost  his  life,  leaping 
over  a second  ledge  of  rock  and  burying  itself  in  a 
black  sullen-looking  pool  at  its  base,  the  depth  of 
w^hich  had  never  been  sounded.  Whither  the  water 


30 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


was  carried  that  fell  into  it  no  one  knew,  though  it 
was  believed  that,  after  making  its  way  for  miles  under 
ground,  it  debouched  at  a point  beloAV  into  the  narrow 
stream  that  meandered  through  the  valley  which,  at 
that  point,  suddenly  swelled  into  a small  river. 

Walter  Thorne  shuddered  as  he  gazed  into  the  dark 
tarn,  and  thought  how  nearly  it  had  proved  his  grave, 
but  he  aroused  himself  from  his  reverie  and  moved 
slowly  forward  upon  a faintly  defined  pathway  till  he 
came  to  a rustic  bridge  formed  by  two  large  logs  fast- 
ened together  by  withes  of  grape-vine,  and  secured  by 
a stick  driven  into  the  ground  at  either  end. 

To  this  primitive  structure  there  was  no  railing,  and 
Thorne  began  to  feel  so  much  exhausted  that  he  was 
glad  to  find  a stick  to  steady  his  steps  over  it.  He 
gained  the  opposite  bank  in  safety,  and  with  some 
effort  ascended  the  rugged  eminence  on  which  stood 
the  half-ruined  building  he  had  first  noticed. 

There  were  evident  signs  of  habitation  about  the 
western  wing,  and  Walter  moved  at  once  towards  a 
gate  which  opened  into  a green  yard  shaded  by  a 
group  of  forest  trees.  The  brick  walls  were  covered 
with  ivy  which  had  encroached  even  upon  the  roof, 
making  a nest  of  verdure  that  was  most  pleasing  to  the 
eye,  and  the  pillars  of  the  portico  were  draped  with 
long  wreaths  of  the  multiflora  rose  mingled  with 
honeysuckle. 

‘‘  Really,  these  people  must  have  some  ideas  of  civ- 
ilization,” was  the  thought  that  came  to  the  intruder’s 
mind.  I am  glad  that  I have  not  fallen  among  bar- 
ha  rians,  after  all.” 

As  he  drew  nearer  he  saw  that  a wooden  cage  hung 
oiitsixle  one  of  the  windows,  in  which  was  a mocking- 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


31 


i ird;  and  he  noticed  that  a bouquet  of  flowers  rather 
artistically  arranged,  had  lately  been  placed  in  a small 
A^ase  within  it. 

‘‘A  touch  of  feminine  taste  there,”  he  said  to  him- 
self with  half  a smile.  ‘‘  I hope  the  owner  of  the 
bird  is  young  and  pretty.  My  adventure,  after  all, 
may  lead  to  something  pleasant.  By  Jove  ! there 
should  be  some  compensation,  for  I feel  as  if  I am  half 
battered  to  pieces.  Ugh ! how  my  arm  tingles  with 
pain.  No  more  sketching  for  me,  for  some  time  to 
come,  I am  afraid.” 

He  ascended  the  flight  of  steps,  and  the  approach 
caused  a sudden  flutter  of  drapery  near  the  open  door. 
A Avhite  muslin  curtain  was  put  back  from  the  window 
jicarest  to  it,  and  the  face  of  a ver}^  young  girl  looked 
out,  wearing  an  expression  of  doubt  and  alarm. 

The  forlorn  and  muddy  figure  that  greeted  her  eyes 
(lid  not  reassure  her,  for  she  uttered  a little  cry,  and 
rushed  towards  an  inner  room,  calling  out : 

‘‘  Father,  mon  pere^  come  hither — come  quickly — 
tliere  is  a stranger  here.” 

The  clear  ringing  tones  of  Walter  Thorne’s  voice 
arose  to  reassure  her. 

I entreat  that  yo.u  will  not  be  alarmed,  young  lady, 

I have  met  with  an  accident,  and  nearly  lost  my  life. 

I was  compelled  to  apply  at  the  nearest  house  for  as- 
sistance, for  I am  in  a sad  plight.  I am  wet  through, 
as  you  can  see,  and  I fear  that  my  right  arm  is  broken.” 

Arrested  in  her  flight,  struck  by  the  refined  and  gen- 
l lemanly  tone  of  the  speaker,  the  girl  turned  and  look- 
ed at  the  handsome  face,  the  well-knit  figure,  that  by 
rds  time  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  she  impulsively 
diew  nearer  to  him  as  he  spoke  of  the  injury  he  had 
received. 


32 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

She  was  very  j'ouiig — at  that  point  of  life  in  which 
childhood  and  maidenhood  meet,  for  she  could  scarcely 
have  been  fifteen  years  of  age.  Her  figure  was  light 
and  symmetrical,  promising  in  full  development  ex- 
treme elegance.  The  complexion  was  of  that  pale 
creamy  tint  which  needs  no  embellishment  from  the 
roses  of  youth.  The  hair,  of  the  darkest  shade  of 
brown,  with  a gleam  of  gold  running  through  it,  wav- 
ed in  short  curls  around  a well-formed  and  haughtily 
set  head. 

The  face  vvas  of  a clear  oval,  with  beautifully  mould- 
ed features.  The  eyes  matched  the  color  of  her  hair, 
for  they  were  hazel,  and  so  soft,  lustrous  and  expres- 
sive, that  the  black  orbs  which  looked  into  them,  were 
at  once  charmed  with  their  expression. 

The  manner  and  language  of  the  stranger  had  re- 
assured her,  for  young  and  inexperienced  as  she  was, 
she  knew  that  the  graceful  courtesy  with  which  he 
had  addressed  her,  could  belong  only  to  one  who  had 
received  the  culture  of  a gentleman. 

Seeing  that  he  was  pale,  and  scarcely  able  to  sustain 
himself,  her  tender  heart  prompted  her  to  succor  him 
at  once.  A large  leather-covered  chair  stood  near  the 
door,  and  pointing  to  it,  she  simply  said : 

“ My  father  never  refuses  aid  and  shelter  to  those 
who  need  it.  Enter,  and  be  seated  till  I can  summon 
him  to  speak  with  you.” 

Walter  Thorne  sank  into  its  depths  with  a weary 
sigh,  and  said : 

Thank  you.  I am  very  faint — will  you  give  me 
some  water,  if  you  please  ? ” 

The  girl  silently  filled  a gourd  from  a cedar  bucket 
that  was  placed  on  a shelf  outside  of  one  of  the  win- 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


33 


\; 


doAvs,  aiul  offered  it  to  him.  After  quaffing  it  he  look- 
ed gratefully  into  th6  bewildering  eyes  bent  so  seriously 
upon  him,  and  said  : 

“ Beautiful  Hebe,  I thank  you  for  this  nectar.  The 
housemaid  of  the  gods  could  scarcely  have  been  so  en- 
chanting as  I find  you.” 

With  a demure  smile,  in  which  there  was  much  mis- 
chief, she  replied  ; My  name  is  not  Hebe,  sir.  It  is 
Claire — Claire  Rosine  Lapierre.  I am  not  used  to  hear- 
ing compliments,  and  my  father  will  be  apt  to  send  you 
aw^ay  if  he  finds  that  you  are  trying  to  turn  my  head, 
as  he  Avould  call  it.” 

‘‘  What,  would  he  be  savage  enough  to  turn  me  out 
in  my  present  wretched  condition  for  so  venial  an  of- 
fence as  that  ? It  would  be  too  barbarous  a proceed- 
ing, and  I must  believe  that  you  are  slandering  your 
respectable  paternal  progenitor.  When  the  sun  shines 
we  say  the  day  is  charming,  then  why,  when  one  meets 
with  that  rara  avis^  a perfectly  beautiful  girl,  shall  he 
not  express  the  rapture  her  presence  inspires  ? En- 
chanting creature,  I bless  the  accident  that  brought 
me  hither,  for  never  have  I seen  aught  so  fair  as  your 
peerless  self.” 

The  cottage  maiden  drew  back  with  an  air  of  offend- 
ed pride  that  surprised  him  from  one  in  her  apparent 
condition. 

Thorne  glanced  around  the  large  room  ; its  appoint- 
ments were  extremely  humble.  No  carpet  covered  the 
floor ; the  chairs,  with  the  exception  of  the  one  he  was 
sitting  on,  were  of  unpainted  wood  ; a pine  table  stood 
between  the  two  windows,  on  which  was  placed  a china 
mug,  filled  with  flowers,  the  only  evidence  of  refine- 


34  *THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

m ent  to  be  seen,  and  the  windows  were  draped  with 
muslin  curtains  of  a rather  scanty  pattern. 

But  the  dress  of  the  young  girl  was  of  better  ma- 
terial, and  more  fashionably  made  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  her  surroundings.  It  was  a light  sum- 
mer muslin,  which  floated  in  soft  folds  around  her,  and 
was  flnished  at  the  throat  by  a narrow  crimped  frill, 
fastened  with  a small  pearl  pin.  The  hands  were  small 
and  shapely,  and  Walter  Thorne  had  enough  penetra- 
tion to  see  that  she  did  not  belong  to  the  Cilass  of 
ignorant  poor  in  which  he  had  at  flrst  placed  her. 

He  hastened  to  atone  for  his  flippancy  by  saying  : 

“ Pardon  me  my  fair  Egeria ; I am  very  faint  and 
weak,  and  my  poor  brain  is  whirling  to  that  degree, 
that  I scarcely  know  what  I am  saying.  Attribute  any 
eccentricities  on  my  part  to  that  cause,  I entreat.” 

He  sunk  back  looking  so  pale,  that  the  kind  heart  of 
Claire  was  moved  to  deeper  sympathy  than  before,  and 
she  hastily  said  : 

‘‘  I will  summon  assistance,  sir,  for  you  greatly  need 
it.  My  father  was  not  within  hearing  when  I called 
him,  but  our  old  servant  will  know  what  to  do  for 
you.” 

She  flitted  away,  though  he  would  have  made  an 
effort  to  detain  her,  if  his  voice  had  not  suddenly  failed 
him  and  darkness  swept  over  his  vision.  In  a few 
moments  an  old  negress  entered  the  room,  and  to  her 
dismay  found  that  the  strange  guest  had  fallen  back 
in  his  chair,  partly  insensible. 

The  woman  hastened  to  bathe  his  face,  and  use  other 
efforts  to  restore  him,  but  while  thus  employed,  she 
muttered  : 

Hi ! what  debbil’s  luck  have  brung  sich  a young 


A STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


gallant  as  dis  to  dis  house  ? My  rosebud’s  too  pretty 
’ail  too  sweet  to  liab  all  de  dew  brushed  from  her  heart 
while  she’s  yet  a chile.  I jes’  wish  he  hadn’t  a come 
here  to-day,  anyhow,  for  de  lightenin’  struck  de  horse- 
shoe I nailed  on  de  old  oak  tree  down  b)^  de  spring, 
for  luck,  and  split  de  wood  right  through  de  heart.  It 
were  Miss  Rose’s  tree,  too — de  one  she  planted  when 
she  was  a tiny  creatur,  an’  I thought  I’d  save  it  from 
harm  by  puttin’  a spell  on  it.  See  what  de  ’suit  is — 
de  bery  ting  I meant  as  a perfection  has  been  de  cause 
of  its  ’struction,  de  master  says. 

“Hi!  what’s  I maunderin’  on  so  for,  I wonder.  I 
won’t  b’lieve  dat  anything  bad  can  come  to  my  pet, 
even  if  de  tree  is  all  smashed  to  flinders.  I’ll  keep  de 
chile  away  from  dis  han’some  young  feller,  an’  nuss 
liim  myself.  Den  he  can  go  as  soon  as  he  pleases,  but 
de  poor  critter  seems  to  be  in  a bad  way  now.” 

“ Yes,  I am  rather  under  the  weather  at  present, 
that’s  a fact,”  said  Thorne,  unclosing  his  eyes  and 
smiling  faintly  ; “but  I shall  be  better  presently,  old 
lady.  Pray  tell  me  where  I am,  and  to  whose  hos- 
pitality I am  indebted  for  shelter.” 

The  woman  recovered  from  the  confusion  and  aston- 
ishment into  which  his  sudden  revival  had  thrown  her, 
and  hastened  to  give  him  more  particulars  of  his  host 
than  he  had  expected  to  hear  at  so  early  a stage  of  theij 
acquaintance. 

“ Well,  mister,  you  am  in  de  Happy  Valley,  as  my 
Rosebud  calls  it,  ’case  she  says  it’s  the  most  peaceful- 
est |)lace  on  de  face  o’  de  yeth.  De  ole  gemplin,  her 
fader  I mean,  is  a mincing,  pincing,  hoity-toity  ole 
creetur  from  furrin  parts,  what  makes  his  livin’  by 
teacliin’  de  queer  lingo  dat’s  his  nat’ral  speech,  ’sides 


36 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARKIAGE. 


music  an’  dancin’  to  my  misseses  childer,  Mrs.  Court- 
enay, ob  de  Grange.  Leastways  dey  aint  but  one  of 
dem  lef’  at  home  now,  an’  she  aint  much  more’n  a pic- 
caninny, but  de  Mistis  lets  Monsher  Lapeer  live  in  dis 
here  place  rent  free,  an’  ’lows  me  to  stay  wi’  him  an’ 
his  darter  to  do  dere  work.  I couldn’t  be  o’  much  use 
on  de  plantation  no  how,  an’  I likes  to  stay.” 

‘‘  Mr.  Lapierre  is  a music  and  dancing  master, 
then  ? ” 

Dancing  master ! hi ! what  you  call  him  dat  for  ? ” 
asked  the  woman,  in  an  offended  tone.  De  Madame 
is  a grand  iady,  and  sAc  calls  him  Miss  Julia’s  teacher ; 
’sides  he  teaches  her  many  things  ’sides  dancin’,  tho’ 
he  do  beat  all  in  dat — ^you’d  say  so,  too,  ef  you  saw 
him  spinnin’  around  dis  room  wid  Miss  Claire,  a singin’ 
tra  la  la,  an’  sometimes  a playin’  on  his  ole  fiddle  till 
you’d  think  he’d  bring  de  soul  out’n  it.  It  would 
make  yer  head  spin  to  see  ’em.” 

I hope  I shall  yet  have  that  pleasure,  but  just 
now  my  head  spins  enough  from  weakness.  If  you 
can  give  me  a bed  to  lie  down  on,  and  bring  me  a doc- 
tor to  look  after  my  arm,  I shall  be  very  glad.  I am 
afraid  it  is  badly  dislocated,  even  if  some  of  the  small 
bones  are  not  broken.” 

‘‘  Good  Lor’ ! ef  dat’s  so,  I don’  know  what’s  to  be 
did,  for  dere  aint  nobody  here  to  go  arter  a doctor,  an’ 
we  aint  got  no  horse  to  ride  if  dere  was.  But  the  ole 
gemplin  will  be  long  directly,  I reckon,  an’  he’ll  know 
what’s  best  to  be  done.  Miss  Claire  went  to  meet 
him,  for  it’s  past  his  time  to  come  home  from  Grange, 
and  dere  ! I hear  de  soun’  o’  his  fiddle  now.  He  allers 
plays  when  he  comes  down  de  holler.  If  you’ll  try  to 
git  up,  sir,  I’ll  help  you  in  de  bed-room,  as  my  Rose- 
bud tole  me  to  do  afore  she  got  back  here.” 


A FAMILY  HISTOKY. 


87 


She  opened  a door  in  the  opposite  wall  which  gave 
entrance  into  a smaller  apartment,  in  which  was  a bed 
with  a white  dimity  coverlet,  a small  table  on  which 
was  a basin  and  ewer,  and  a large  arm-chair  cushioned 
and  covered  with  chintz. 

As  the  negress  assisted  the  young  stranger  into  this 
neat  looking  chamber,  the  tones  of  a violin  became 
more  distinct.  The  strain  was  wild  and  spirit-stirring, 
and  it  was  played  with  a power  and  passionate  fervor 
that  surprised  Walter  Thorne,  for  he  had  heard  much 
good  music,  and  with  delight  he  recognized  the  touch 
of  a master  on  the  instrument  he  most  highly  prized. 

Suddenly  the  music  ceased,  only  a few  long  drawn 
chords  reached  his  ear,  and  he  correctly  supposed  that 
the  musician  had  encountered  his  daughter  and  had 
ceased  playing  to  listen  to  the  news  of  his  own  advent 
at  the  cottage  and  the  great  need  of  assistance  in  which 
he  stood. 

By  the  time  he  heard  their  approaching  footsteps  in 
the  outer  room,  Walter  Thorne  was  lying  back  in  the 
large  chair  beside  the  bed,  pallid  and  suffering,  scarce- 
ly conscious  of  the  efforts  of  the  old  woman  to  place 
him  in  a more  comfortable  position  than  he  had  thrown 
himself  in. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FAMILY  HISTORY,  AND  PRESENTIMENTS. 

A SMALL,  dark  man  approached  the  doorway  and 
stood  an  instant  contemplating  the  waif  the  storm 


38 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


had  sent  him.  Apparently  he  was  not  well  pleased 
with  the  chance  that  threw  this  haughty  looking  young 
stranger  on  his  hospitality,  but  the  expression  of  an- 
noyance passed  from  his  face  when  he  saw  that  Thorne 
was  really  suffering. 

M.  Lapierre  was  a slender,  wiry  looking  man,  with 
eyes  of  vivid  blackness,  and  a wild  elvish  looking 
shock  of  hair  thickly  sprinkled  with  grey.  He  had  a 
low,  broad  forehead,  and  thin  firmly-set  lips  which 
showed  that  a resolution  once  arrived  at  was  seldom 
departed  from.  He  wore  a full  suit  of  white  linen, 
and  his  nationality  was  betrayed  by  the  care  with 
which  the  ribbon  that  confined  his  shirt  collar  was 
arranged. 

He  had  deposited  his  violin  on  the  table  in  the  outer 
room,  and  he  now  drew  near  the  bed  and  spoke,  with 
a strong  foreign  accent,  but  with  perfect  propriety  of 
expression : 

Ah  ! ah  ! Monsieur — caught  in  the  storm,  I per- 
ceive, and  pretty  welh  drenched.  It  was  well  that  my 
house  was  near  enough  to  afford  you  shelter,  for  you 
seem  to  be  in  a bad  plight.  I have  not  much  to  offer, 
but  such  as  our  humble  fare  is,  you  are  welcome  to 
share  it.  Be  quick,  Betty,  and  get  some  dry  garments 
for  the  gentleman,  and  put  on  the  kettle  to  make  a cup 
of  tea  for  him.  I think  that  I can  manage  his  case 
without  much  difficulty.” 

“ I don’  think  you  kin,”  bluntly  replied  Betty,  for 
he  says  his  arm’s  broke,  an’  he  wants  a doctor  sent 
for  right  away  ; but  de  good  Lor’  knows  I don’  know 
who’s  to  go  arter  him.” 

M.  Lapierre  made  a step  forward  looking  less 
alarmed  than  the  negro  had  expected.  He  coolly  said : 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


39 


“ It  may  not  be  quite  so  bad  as  that,  but  I shall  soon 
be  able  to  judge.  Even  if  there  should  be  a trifling 
fracture,  I understand  what  is  to  be  done,  and  it  is 
lucky  that  I do,  for  the  nearest  physician  is  ten  miles 
aw^ay.  Permit  me  to  help  you  off  with  your  coat,  sir, 
that  I may  form  my  own  judgment  of  the  injury  your 
arm  has  sustained.  Go  at  once,  Betty,  and  find  some 
dry  clothes.” 

The  negro  interrupted  the  faint  thanks  of  the  patient 
by  saying  : 

I don’  ’no  whar  I kin  git  anything  big  enough  for 
him  ’bout  dis  house.  Your  close  aint  agwine  to  be 
o’  much  use  to  him  I reckin,  an’  he  can’t  wear  mine  or 
Miss  Claire’s.” 

For  a moment  Lapierre  seemed  to  hesitate  about 
the  order  he  finally  gave,  and  a strange  spasm  passed 
over  his  face  as  he  said  : 

Open  the  carved  chest  in  the  closet  in  my  chamber, 
and  you  will  find  linen  in  that  which  this  young  man 
can  wear.  A dressing-gown  will  also  be  found  among 
the  things,  which  will  answer  our  purpose.  Yet  no  ; I 
do  not  wish  you  to  open  it.  Tell  Claire  to  look  for  the 
key  of  the  chest  in  my  writing-desk,  open  it  herself, 
and  give  you  what  I have  named.” 

Claire,  who  lingered  in  the  oii'  ^ heard  this 
order  given  with  extreme  surprise,  i i mat  chest  had 
been  a mystery  to  her  from  her  childhood.  It  had 
always  been  kept  carefully  locked,  and  her  father  had 
evaded  her  questions  as  to  what  it  contained.  Of 
course  she  was  glad  to  explore  it  for  herself,  and  she 
went  at  once  on  the  errand  assigned  her.  After  some 
time  had  elapsed,  Betty  came  back  bearing  a brocaded 
dressing  robe  of  gay  colors,  and  several  garments  of 
fine  linen,  yellowed  by  time. 


40  the  clandestine  mabriace. 

The  old  man  sighed  heavily  as  he  glanced  at  them, 
but  he  seemed  to  smother  the  painful  feeling,  and 
briskly  said : 

“ Now,  sir,  we  can  make  you  comfortable.  You 
have  already  been  too  long  in  your  wet  clothes.  I will 
assist  you  to  change  them,  and  look  more  carefully 
into  your  condition.  Your  arm  hangs  almost  useless, 
but  I think  I can  remedy  the  injury  it  has  received.  A 
surgeon  is  out  of  the  question  in  this  retired  place,  and 
you  will  have  to  put  up  with  my  skill,  such  as  it  is.” 

But,  my  dear  sir,”  remonstrated  the  patient,  ‘‘  I 
am  afraid  that  my  arm  is  broken,  and  if  it  is  not  prop- 
erly attended  to,  it  may  be  made  stiff  for  the  rest  of 
my  life.  I have  money,  the  expense  of  a surgeon  will 
be  no  object  to  me,  and  if  it  is  possible  to  obtain  one, 
I entreat  that  he  may  be  summoned  to  my  assistance.” 

He  would  come  too  late  to  be  of  any  service  to 
you,”  said  M.  Lapierre,  drily.  By  the  time  he  could 
get  here,  your  arm  would  be  so  swollen  that  he  would 
find  it  impossible  to  reduce  the  fracture  properly,  if 
fracture  there  be.  I possess  some  trifling  skill  in  sur- 
gery, and  I can  soon  judge  if  the  case  is  beyond  my 
management.  Allow  me  to  examine  your  condition, 
if  you  please.” 

His  tone  and  manner  were  so  decided  that  the 
younger  man  thought  it  best  to  submit,  and  with  the 
dextrous  assistance  of  the  Frenchman,  he  was  soon 
endued  in  the  dry  garments  that  had  been  provided. 
M.  Lapierre’s  quick  eyes  soon  ascertained  the  extent 
of  his  injuries.  He  laid  bare  the  shoulder,  and  said  : 

You  have  dislocated  your  collar-bone  and  sprained 
your  arm  severely,  but  that  is  all.  With  Betty’s  assist- 
ance, I can  bring  the  first  in  place  again,  and  witli  a 


A FAMILY  HISTOKY. 


41 


few  days  care  you  will  do  well  enough.  I am  glad  it’s 
no  worse,  for  Dr.  Blesdoe  may  be  fifty  miles  away  for 
aught  I knaw,  even  if  we  had  any  one  to  send  after 
him.  You  can  stand  a sharp  pang,  I think,  and  then 
the  worst  will  be  over.” 

‘‘  I must  stand  it,  of  course,”  was  the  rather  ungra- 
cious reply ; ‘‘  but  are  you  sure  that  your  skill  will 
suffice?” 

Sure  ? Oh  yes.  You  shall  soon  see  that  I am 
quite  equal  to  the  occasion.  Here,  Betty,  I want 
you.” 

The  old  woman  came  at  his  call,  and  with  prompt 
decision  M.  Lapierre  gave  her  such  directions  as  were 
necessary.  Claire,  who  stood  in  the  outer  room  listen- 
ing in  trembling  silence,  heard  a faint  cry  as  the  dislo- 
cated part  was  pulled  in  place,  and  she  hastened  to 
bring  camphor  and  lavender  for  the  use  of  the  suffer- 
ing patient.  By  the  time  she  returned  with  them  the 
shoulder  had  been  carefully  bandaged,  the  patient  put 
in  bed  and  lightly  covered,  while  his  bare  arm  was  laid 
out  on  the  coverlet  to  be  rubbed  and  swathed  in  linen 
in  its  turn. 

As  Claire  appeared  with  the  restoratives,  M.  Lapierre 
said : 

‘‘Well,  my  young  friend,  that  was  neatly  done,  I 
flatter  myself ; and  I must  say  that  you  bore  it  well — 
very  well.  It  is  no  trifle  to  have  one’s  bones  wrenched 
back  to  the  right  place,  and  you  are  faint  and  pale  as 
a natural  consequence  of  such  an  operation.  Here, 
mafille^  bathe  his  face  with  the  lavender,  while  I fo- 
ment the  bruised  arm  with  camphor,  and  tie  it  up.  No 
bones  are  broken  at  all,  sir  ; all  right  enough  here,  and 
we  shall  have  you  about  in  a few  days.” 


42  the  clandestine  marriage. 

‘‘  I hope  so,”  was  the  faint  reply,  and  I am  sure  1 
am  extremely  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  your  ready  as- 
sistance.” 

By  no  means ; you  need  not  trouble  yourself  to 
express  gratitude,  for  I haven’t  much  faith  in  it.  I 
would  help  a dog  that  had  received  any  bodilj^  injury 
that  could  be  remedied  by  my  skill.” 

After  this  brusque  declaration  young  Thorne  said  no 
more ; and  Claire  came  to  his  side  with  a simple  grace 
in  which  there  was  no  appearance  of  shyness.  She 
was  still  too  much  a child  to  become  embarrassed  by 
the  performance  of  the  duty  assigned  her,  even  if  the 
patient  was  a young  and  singularly  handsome  man. 

Her  soft,  cool  hands  passed  soothingly  over  his  brow, 
occasionally  resting  a brief  moment  upon  it  with  a 
touch  that  thrilled  to  the  heart  of  the  eager  and  im- 
pressionable youth  to  whom  she  so  deftly  ministered. 
His  half  closed  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  lineaments  of  her 
lovely  face,  and  Walter  Thorne  thought  that  never 
before  had  he  seen  any  creature  half  so  entrancing  as 
this  simple  cottage  maiden. 

A passionate  adorer  of  beauty^'  in  any  form,  it  was 
not  wonderful  that  his  eyes  should  revel  in  the  con- 
templation of  so  charming  a face  as  the  one  that  bent 
above  him,  its  owner  pitifully  regarding  him,  and 
thinking  no  more  of  his  youth. and  good  looks  than  she 
did  of  her  own  efforts  to  succor  him.  Tlie  arm  was  at 
length  bound  up,  and  her  father  briskly  said  : 

It’s  all  right  now,  sir.  That  will  do,  my  daughter  ; 
leave  him  alone,  and  see  that  Betty  brings  him  some 
toast  and  tea  as  soon  as  may  be.  Your  walk  has  given 
you  an  appetite  I dare  say,  sir,  in  spite  of  your  acci- 
dent ; but  T cannot  suffer  you  to  take  anything  more 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


43 


substantial  than  tea  and  toast  just  at  present.  A 11  in 
good  time,  though.  To-morrow  perhaps  you  may  ven- 
ture to  taste  a broiled  bird.” 

With  a faint  smile  Thome  replied: 

Thanks  for  all  your  kindness.  I do  not  feel  hungry 
just  now,  and  it  is  so  soothing  to  have  my  aching  head 
bathed,  that  I , think  I shall  prefer  that  to  food.” 

Ah ! did  you  strike  it  against  anything  when  the 
accident  happened  that  dislocated  your  shoulder  ? You 
have  had  a bad  wrench,  and  really  I am  curious  to 
know  how  you  dropped  into  our  valley  so  suddenly. 
There  is  but  one  entrance  on  this  side,  and  that  Avas 
rendered  impassable  by  the  rain  that  came  down  almost 
Avithout  warning.” 

“ You  may  well  say  that,”  replied  Thorne  with  a 
slight  laugh. 

I came  near  being  dashed  over  the  rocks,  and  only 
escaped  by  desperately  exerting  my  unusual  physical 
strength,  I feel  as  Areak  as  a child  iioav,  but  an  hour 
ago  I battled  for  my  life,  and  Avon  it  at  the  expense  of 
nearly  wrenching  my  good  right  arm  from  its  socket.” 

“ JBo7i  Dien!  you  Avere  never  in  the  Devil’s  Gorge 
when  the  storm  SAvept  doAvn  ! ” exclaimed  Lapierre. 

‘‘Yes,  I Avas  caught  by  the  rain  Avhen  half  way 
1 lu’oiigh,  so  I had  no  alternative  but  to  hurry  on  as  fast 
as  possible.  I had  a hard  fight  for  life,  but  you  see  uie 
here  in  this  battered  and  bruised  condition,  that  is 
all.” 

“ylZZ/  Really,  my  young  Hercules,  you  have  per- 
formed as  miraculous  a feat  as  any  ever  attributed  to 
that  fabulous  heathen.  Nothing  swept  doAAUi  that  pass 
when  a flood  rushes  through  it  has  ever  been  known  to 
escape  before.  Do  j^ou  know  that  if  the  torrent  had 


44 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


taken  you  over  the  brow  of  the  cliflP  no  furthei  vestige 
of  you  would  ever  ha've  been  found!  Nobody  about 
here  can  tell  what  becomes  of  the  waifs  that  reach  the 
Lady’s  Tarn,  as  my  daughter  has  named  it.” 

‘‘Yes,  I knew  all  that.  I was  warned  by  the  land- 
lord of  the  tavern  in  the  little  town  ten  miles  hence. 
He  painted  all  the  dangers  in  the  path,  but  I was  fool- 
hardy enough  to  persist  in  braving  them.  But  in  spite 
of  my  present  position  I do  not  regret  it  now,  for  what 
I have  seen  has  amply  repaid  me.  ~ I am  an  artist.  Mon- 
sieur, in  search  of  the  picturesque  and  beautiful,  and 
I have  found  both  in  perfection  in  your  secluded  val-  ^ 
ley.”  ' ' 

“You  are  a philosopher,  at  all  events,”  replied  La- 
pierre  drily.  “ There,  that  will  do.  Rosebud.  Go, 
and  look  after  Betty.  I will  take  your  place  here. 
The  gentleman  can  put  up  with  my  ministrations  while 
you  have  his  tea  made  ready.  He  must  take  some- 
thing, whether  he  wishes  it  or  not.” 

The  young  girl  resigned  her  place,  and  noiselessly 
left  the  room.  Lapierre’s  touch  was  very  gentle,  but 
after  a few  moments  the  patient  said : 

“ Thank  you,  that  will  do,  sir.  My  head  feels  better 
now.  I will  not  trouble  you  to  bathe  it  any  longer.” 

“ Ah  ! so  much  the  better,  my  young  friend.  And 
now,  as  it  is  rather  awkward  not  to  know  by  what 
liame  to  address  each  other,  I will  tell  you  that  mine 
is  Armand  Lapierre,  at  your  service,  and  I shall  be 
glad  to  hear  yours  in  return.” 

The  stranger  hesitated  a moment,  and  then  gave  his 
true  name,  whiph  for  an  instant  he  had  been  tempted 
to  withhold  ; why,  or  for  what  purpose,  he  could  not 
have  explained 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


45 


‘‘My  name  is  Walter  Thorne,  and  I am  an  artist 
making  a pedestrian  tour  in  search  of  the  picturesque. 
I lost  my  portfolio  and  camp  stool  in  the  wrestle  for 
my  life,  and  I suppose  the  Lady’s  Tarn  has  swallowed 
them  up  long  ago.” 

“Very  likely;  and  you  may  be  thankful  that  you 
did  not  go  over  with  them.  Well,  Mr.  Thorne,  we  will 
do  the  best  we  can  for  you,  and  I hope  to  see  you  well 
^enough  in  a few  days  to  prosecute  your  tour ! We  are 
plain  people,  and  lack  many  things  the  outside  world 
considers  essential  to  comfort ; but  such  as  we  have, 
yoii^are  heartily  welcome  to,  while  you  sojourn  among 
us.” 

“ I cannot  find  words  to  thank  you.  Monsieur.  You 
have  proved  yourself  a good  Samaritan,  and  I must 
say  I am  most  grateful  for  what  you  have  done  for 
me.” 

“ Pooh ! this  is  the  second  time  you  have  spoken  of 
gratitude.  It’s  a thing  that  ought  not  to  be  talked 
about,  but  felt.  We  are  put  in  this  world  to  help  each 
other,  and  it’s  not  often  that  I am  called  upon  to  exer- 
cise the  golden  rule.  Your  pulse  is  quickening,  and  I 
am  afraid  that  your  adventure  this  afternoon  will  be 
followed  by  a little  fever ; but  I can  deal  with  that, 
^ too,  without  a doctor’s  assistance.  Before  you  sleep, 
I will  administer  some  drops  that  will  have  a cooling 
effect,  and  by  morning  I think  you  will  be  in  a fair  way 
of  recovery.  When  you  have  taken  your  tea,  you  must 
be  left  quiet  the  remainder  of  the  evening.” 

With  a smile  Thorne  said: 

“ I submit  myself  to  your  authority,  sir.  I have 
found  you  so  skillful  a surgeon,  that  I am  inclined  to 
trust  implicitly  to  you  as  a physician.” 


; ] THE  CLANDESTINE  .MAURI  AGE. 

'' That  is  well,  for  you  might  fare  worse.  I know 
something  of  both  medicine  and  surgery  ; a mere  smat- 
tering, it  is  true  ; but  such  as  it  is,  it  will  suffice  in 
your  case.  Ah  ! here  comes  the  tea.  Drink  it,  and 
take  a few  morsels  of  the  toast,  they  will  do  you 
good.” 

Thorne  looked  eagerly  toward  the  door,  hoping  that 
Claire  Avould  appear,  and  his  expressive  face  showed 
his  disappointment  when  Betty  entered  bearing  a wai- 
ter, on  which  rested  a porcelain  cup  and  saucer  sprink- 
led over  with  small  bouquets  of  roses.  The  plate  on 
which  the  bread  lay  matched  them,  and  the.  guest  won- 
dered how  this  impoverished  man  came  in  possession 
of  such  articles  of  luxury. 

He  soon  dispatched  the  light  supper,  declared  him- 
self better,  and  M.  Lapierre  withdre  w,  followed  by  the 
servant. 

Left  alone,  Thorne  turned  restlessly  on  his  couch, 
and  tried  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  necessity  of  being 
([uiet  for  a season.  He  had  never  been  ill  since  he 
could  remember,  and  he  feared  that  he  would  prove 
rather  a refractoiy  patient  to  these  kind  people.  The 
sense  of  helpessness  and  suffering  was  so  new  to  him 
{luit  he  writhed  under  it,  and  almost  felt  as  if  he  had 
lost  half  his  manhood  in  being  compelled  to  lie  on  his 
! ( (1,  and  suffer  others  to  minister  to  his  wants. 

Wdiei!  he  tliomxht  of  the  sweet  face  that  had  bent 
above  him,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  it  Avas  wmrth 
being  sick  to  have  so  fair  a nurse,  and  he  speculated  as 
to  wliether  the  pretty  Claire  would  be  permitted  to  enter 
his  room  again. 

If  she  did  not,  he  would  not  remain  in  it,  that  was 
certain.  Nothing  save  the  sight  of  her  enchanting  face 


A FAMILY  HISTOKY. 


47 


would  reconcile  him  to  the  inactivity  to  which  he  was 
condemned  for  the  next  few  days. 

All  his  summer  labors  were  gone  too  ; he  acknowl- 
edged to  himself  that  the  loss  did  not  signify  much  to 
the  world  of  art ; but  they  were  not  the  less  precious 
^ to  him  on  that  account.  He  had  encountered  fatigue, 
sometimes  danger,  in  seeking  the  places  he  had  sketch- 
ed, and  each  drawing  had  some  little  history  attached 
to  it  which  gave  it  an  interest  to  him.  Besides,  he 
really  believed  that  some  of  them  possessed  intrinsic 
value,  and  he  prided  himself  on  the  care  with  v/hich 
his  subjects  had  been  elaborated.  Although  only  an 
amateur  artist,  Walter  Thorne  believed  that  the  con- 
tents of  his  lost  portfolio  would  have  given  him  a fair 
position  among  those  with  whom  he  was  ambitious  to 
obtain  a footing. 

With  a weary  sigh,  he  resigned  himself  to  his  loss  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  again  the  fair  face  of  the  young- 
girl  arose  before  him,  consoling  him  for  the  accident 
from  which  he  was  suffering,  and  awkening  romantic 
visions  of  the  future,  for  he  had  fallen  in  love  at  first 
sight  with  the  beautiful  maiden  of  the  valley,  and  Wal- 
ter Thorne  was  not  one  to  deny  himself  the  gratifica- 
tion of  the  most  vagrant  whim  from  consideration  for 
another.  He  thought : 

“ T will  make  the  first  impression  on  her  virgin  heart, 
and  then — well,  what  then  ? I won’t*  think  of  results. 
Let  me  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  that  heavenly  smile  ; let 
me  aw^aken  in  that  gentle  heart  the  first  emotions  of 
love  ; let  me  win  a return  to  the  passion  that  has  al- 
ready sprung  to  life  in  my  heart,  and  the  future  may 
take  care  of  itself.  Men  of  my  craft  rave  of  the  Venus 
de  Medici ; but  she,  with  her  faded  smile,  is  not  to  be 


48 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


compared  to  this  living,  breathing  incarnation  of  love- 
liness. Such  lips  ! such  eyes — so  fathomless,  so  bright ! 
And  then  those  dainty  hands  that  touched  my  brow  so 
softly.  I feel  them  thrilling  through  me  now.  Ah  ! 
I am  fathoms  gone  already.  Falling  in  love  is  the  con- 
ventional phrase,  and,  by  Jove,  I’ve  gone  and  done  it, 
sure  enough.  I have  mocked  at  others,  and  called 
them  spoony  for  doing  the  same  thing,  and  now  my 
own  fate  has  come  upon  me.  It  is  my  fate,  or  I should 
have  had  a harder  fall  over  the  rocks  into  that  black 
pool ; since  I was  saved  to  come  hither,  and  be  nursed 
back  .to  health  by  these  people,  something  is  to 
come  of  it.  But  what  ? Ah,  the  Lord  only  knows  ; 
so  what  is  the  use  of  speculating  about  it.  I shall 
only  give  myself  a fever  if  I trouble  myself  about  re- 
sults. Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself.  That  is  the 
best  plan  for  every  one,  especially  for  me  just  now ; so 
for  once  I’ll  follow  the  precept  of  the  holy  book,  as  my 
nurse  used  to  call  the  Bible.  It  says,  ‘ take  no  thought 
for  the  morrow.’  Very  good ; for  once  I will  be  pious, 
and  obey  the  command.” 

His  restless  and  wandering  thoughts  were  inter- 
rupted by  Lapierre,  who  came  in  carrying  a cup  in  his 
hand  in  which  his  drops  were  mixed.  Thorne  drank 
them  without  opposition,  and  said  he  thought  he  could 
sleep  ; so  he  was  again  left  alone  to  indulge  his  vagrant 
and  wayward  fancies. 

As  the  evening  closed  in,  the  tones  of  a violin  which 
seemed  to  come  from  a distance,  floated  through  the 
open  windows,  soothing  and  quieting  him  in  a manner 
that  was  marvellous  to  the  invalid  : the  soft  evening 
breeze  was  wafted  through  his  room,  laden  with  the 
brealli  of  roses  ; and  with  a delicious  feeling  of  repose, 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


49 


Walter  Tnorne  at  length  sank  to  sleep,  to  dream  of 
the  sweet  face  which  had  that  evening  so  pityingly 
looked  down  upon  him. 

In  the  meantime,  the  inmates  of  the  ruined  dwelling 
took  their  supper  in  a large,  dilapidated  looking  room 
which  was  almost  destitute  of  furniture.  In  summer 
they  usually  enjoyed  this  meal  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
forest  trees  iii  the  yard  ; but  the  rain  that  had  so  lately 
fallen  forbade  that  on  this  evening. 

M.  Lapierre  looked  thoughtful,  and  his  daughter  was 
also  more  pre-occupied  than  usual ; so,  contrary  to 
their  usual  custom,  few  words  passed  between  them 
while  at  table.  As  the  father  arose,  he  asked : 

Did  you  replace  the  key  of  the  chest  where  you 
found  it,  Claire  ? ” 

‘‘  Yes,  sir  ; you  will  find  it  in  the  same  place  in  the 
desk.  - Oh,  papa  where  did  all  those  nice  things  come 
from  ? The  clothing  is  finer  than  any  I have  ever 
seen  before.  Why  have  you  never  worn  any  of  it 
since  I can  remember  ? ” 

He  almost  sternly  replied  : 

‘‘I  have  not  worn  those  garments  because  they  were 
not  made  for  me,  and  they  would  not  fit  me.  Besides, 
they  are  not  suited  to  my  present  station  in  life.” 

“Who,  then,  were  they  made  for?  Yes,  they  must 
be  too  large  for  you,  since  they  fit  our  guest,  for  you 
are  a small  man  beside  him.” 

M.  Lapierre- frowned,  bit  his  lips  ; and  after  a pause, 
replied : 

“ It  is  of  no  consequence  to  you  to  whom  they  be- 
longed. The  person  that  owned  them  is  never  likely  to 
darken  our  doors.  I am  sorry  you  saw  them  ; I should 
have  gone  for  the  change  of  garments  myself;  but  if  I 


60 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


had,  you  would  have  been  curious  to  know  where  I have 
kept  brocade  and  fine  linen  hidden  through  all  these 
years.  Those  clothes  were  left  in  my  care,  and  never 
reclaimed  ; there  is  no  likelihood  that  they  will  be 
sought  after  now,  for  it  is  many  years  since  I heard 
from  their  owner.  He  is  either  dead  or  has  forgotten 
all  about  me.  The  last  I think,  and  I am  glad  it  is  so, 
for  a renewal  of  intercourse  between  us  could  only  be 
painful  to  us  both. 

It  is  well  that  those  garments  can  be  useful  to  some 
one  at  last,  for  they  have  long  molded  away  in  the  chest. 
Although  it  is  painful  to  me  to  see  them  flaunting  in 
the  day  again,  I could  do  no  better  for  the  guest  fate 
has  sent  us,  than  suffer  him  to  use  a.  few  of  them  till 
his  own  things  are  put  in  order.” 

M.  Lapierre  spoke  more  as  if  communing  with  him- 
' self  than  addressing  his  daughter,  but  she  replied  : 

‘‘  Betty  will  have  the  stranger’s  clothes  ready  for  him 
when  he  rises  in  the  morning.  She  has  taken  them  to 
the  kitchen  to  be  renovated.  Oh,  papa,  how  cour- 
ageous, how  stout  of  heart  he  must  be  to  escape  such 
dangers  as  he  battled  through  in  the  Devil’s  Gorge. 
If  he  had  been  dashed  on  the  rocks,  think  where  he 
might  be  now.”  And  the  speaker  shuddered,  and  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands. 

Pooh ! child  ! Don’t  exaggerate  his  bravery. 
1 he  weakest  of  creatures  will  struggle  for  life,  and 
this  youngster  is  as  strong  as  a young  lion.  Don’t  suf- 
fer your  imagination  to  make  a hero  of  him,  Claire/ 
and  I do  not  wish  you  to  go  near  him  again.  It  is  my 
desire  that  Betty  shall  exclusively  attend  to  him.  You 
are  but  a child  yet,  it  is  true,  but  you  are  very  well 
grown  for  your  years  and  this  good  looking  stranger 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


51 


may  take  it  into  his  head  to  talk  nonsense  to  you.  1 
will  not  have  your  young  life  tarnished  hj  his  flattery. 
I will  keep  j^ou  pure,  and  sweet,  and  passionless  as  you 
now  are,  till  you  are  a fully  developed  woman.  Then, 
perhaps',  some  man  good  enough  to  win  my  Rosebud’s 
atfections  may  seek  them;  but  there  are  very  few 
worthy  of  the  love  of  a good  woman — very  few,  more’s 
the  pity.” 

“ Dearest  father,  I never  intend  to  leave  you  for  any 
one,”  said  the  young  girl,  blushing.  I know  that  ^ou 
are  a good  man,  and  I shall  do  as  you  so  often  tell  me 
— ‘ let  well  enough  alone.’  We  are  so  happy  here  to- 
gether, that  I would  not  have  any  change  for  the 
world.” 

Poor  little  wayside  flower,”  said  her  father  fondly 
caressing  her  hair.  What  will  be  its  fate  when  it  is 
torn  from  its  parent  stem,  I wonder  ? Will  it  be  tram- 
pled in  the  dust  of  the  highway,  or  taken  up  to  bloom 
in  some  sheltered  spot.  Oh,  my  Rosebud,  you  are  the 
one  treasure  of  my  life,  yet  I can  do  so  little  for  you, 
and  in  the  days  to  come,  God  alone  knows  what  is  to 
be  your  fate.” 

. Claire  nestled  to  his  breast,  and  breathlessly  asked  : 

Why  do  you  talk  so,  father  ? Why  should  you  an- 
ticipate trouble  when  everything  is  so  pleasant  around 
us?  We  have  enough:  Mrs.  Courtnay  will  not  turn 
us  out  of  our  home — I know  she  is  far  too  kind  for  that. 
What  has  come  over  you,  mon  pere 

‘‘Nothing,  nothing,  child;  only  a presentiment  that 
— that — ^but  why  should  I darken  your  sunshine  with 
my  croaking  ? Yet,  my  darling,  you  know  that  I am 
many  vears  older  than  you.  I was  forty-five  when  you 
were  born,  and  that  makes  me  sixty  on  my  next  birth- 


52  the  cl  ANDES  tike  MAKRIAGE; 

day.  When  a man  gets  that  far  along  on  the  road  to 
the  grave,  it  is  time  to  think  of  the  great  change  that 
cannot  be  very  far  distant.  Somehow  I have  thought 
a great  deal  about  it  of  late,  and  I naturally  speculate 
on  what  is  to  become  of  my  portionless  and  nearly 
friendless  little  girl  when  I am  no  longer  with  her.” 

Claire  paled  slightly,,  but  rallying,  she  tenderly  pat- 
ted him  upon  the  cheek,  and  said : 

‘‘  You  dear,  old,  naughty  papa,  why  should  you  in- 
dulge ^uch  gloomy  fancies  ? You  don’t  look  a day 
over  fifty ; and  besides,  what  are  sixty  years  of  life, 
when  so  many  go  on  to  eighty,  ninety,  or  even  a hun- 
dred years  ? You  shall  take  rank  with  the  patriarchs 
— I am  determined  on  that ; so  don’t  talk  any  more  in 
this  depressing  strain.  It  takes  all  the  sunshine  of  my 
life  to  have  you  even  hint  at  1-eaving  me  all  alone  in 
the  world.  What  should  I do — what  could  I do  with- 
out you  ? ” 

Not  much,  I am  afraid  ; so  I trust  that  God  will 
spare  me  at  least  till  my  Rosebud  is.  fully  blown. 
Then,  when  she  is  developed  into  noble  and  perfect 
womanhood,  she  can  win  her  way  to  the  respect  and 
good  will  of  all  with  whom  she  may  be  thrown. 
When  I am  called  away,  Claire,  I shall  have  little  be- 
side my  blessing  to  leave  you,  but  I shall  bequeath 
you  to  one  on  whom  you  have  the  strongest  claim  for 
protection  and  assistance.” 

‘‘Who  is  that,  papa  ? ” was  the.  eager  question  that 
followed. 

After  a long  pause,  Lapierre  reluctantly  said: 

“ I must  send  you  to  one  allied  by  blood,  but  not 
by  nature.  Armand  is  of  the  ‘ earth,  earthy,’  and  you 
are  my  bright  and  sinless  Peri,  unfit  to  soil  your  wings 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


53 


by  coming  in  contract  with  such  as  he.  Yet  my  hard 
fate  has  left  j^ou  no  other  alternative  than  beggary,  or 
an  appeal  to  him.” 

‘‘But  who  is  this  Armand,  father?  Till  this 
moment  I did  not  know  that  I had  a claim  on  any 
human  creature  except  myself.” 

With  a heavy  sigh,  M.  Lapierre  said : 

“ I wish  that  I had  not  referred  to  him,  Claire,  I 
once  thought  that  I would  never  speak  of  him  to  you ; 
never  reveal  the  tie  that  exists  between  you ; and  I 
cannot  tell  what  impelled  me  to  do  so  this  evening.  I 
believe  I would  do  better  to  trust  you  to  fight  the  bat- 
tle of  life  alone,  than  to  ask  Armand’s  protection  for 
you,  but  I am  weak  where  you  are  concerned,  and  I 
cannot  bear  to  leave  you  to  poverty  and  struggle,  when 
the  way  can  be  made  smooth  before  you  by  the  sacri- 
fice of  my  pride.  Oh,  that  I should  have  come  to 
speak  thus  of  him  who  was  in  other  days  the  pride  of 
my  life — my  only,  and  once  idolized  son.” 

The  speaker  covered  his  face  in  a paroxysm  of 
strong  emotion,  but  the  girl  caught  the  meaning  of  the 
last  muttered  words,  and  with  widely  opened  eyes  she 
asked  in  a whisper  : 

Have  I then  a brother  ? Is  it  he  that  you  refer  to  ? 
Oh,  papa,  what  can  he  have  done  to  separate  you  for- 
ever— to  cause  you  to  speak  of  him  thus.  TeU  me 
why  vou  have  never  before  hinted  his  existence  to 

With  bitter  emphasis,  Lapierre  replied  : 

“ Because  he  is  unfit  to  be  named  in  your  presence  ; 
and  I am  sorry  that  I have  been  weak  enough  to  speak 
of  him  now.  It  can  do  iiu  good  to  open  up  that  past ; 
yet  the‘Sight  of  the  clothes,  so  long  hidden  away^  has 


54 


THE  CL  ANDEST  IISTE  MARKIAGE. 


Ivoiignb  back  those  cruel  memories  with  sucli  vividness 
that  I forgot  my  usual  prudence.  Forget  that  I have 
spoken  of  Armand,  my  child,  for  he  is  nothing  to  you. 
can  be  nothing  to  you  as  long  as  I live.” 

But,  cher  papa,  now  1 know  that  such  a relation  is 
somewhere  in  the  world,  I naturally  wish  to  hear  all 
that  you  can  tell  me  about  him.  Oh,  my  father,  I 
entreat  that  you  will  tell  me  something  of  your  former 
life.  If  you  were  to  be  taken  from  me,  I should  know 
nothing  of  ray  family  history.” 

Lapierre  gazed  at  her  a few  moments  in  silence,  as  if 
not  certain  whether  it  would  be  best  to  gratify  her 
natural  curiosity  to  learn  something  more  of  his  ante- 
cedents than  he  had  hitherto  thought  proper  to  reveal. 
With  a profound  sigh,  he  finally  said: 

“ Perhaps  you  are  right,  my  daughter.  I had  better 
tell  you  something  of  myself  before  the  time  comes 
when  I can  speak  no  more  on  this  or  any  other  subject. 
You  may  think  it  strange  that  I augur  thus  gloomilj^ 
of  myself ; but  something  tells  me  that  I shall  not  much 
longer  be  permitted  to  remain  with  you.  There  are 
moments  in  which  I feel  as  if  the  earth  is  receding  be- 
neath my  footsteps  ; as  if  the  wide  realms  of  eternity 
are  ready  to  unclose  their  portals  to  me.  When  the 
fiat  is  uttered,  ‘ Mortal,  come,’  I must  obey,  however 
tender  and  clinging  may  be  the  tie  that  binds  me 
here.” 

Claire  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  clung  to 
him  with  passionate  fervor,  as  she  tearfully  said  : 

“You  must  not;  you  cannot  leave  me-;  don’t  talk  so, 
papa,  or  my  heart  will  break.” 

“ So  you  think  now,  my  child ; but  the  heart  is 
tough — tough  in  healthy  organizations  ; and  you  are 


A FAMILY  HISTORY.  5 

young  and  strong  ; you  can  beai^  heavy  burdens,  and 
rise  above  them  ; you  possess  the  elastic  temperament 
of  the  race  from  which  you  sprang,  and  my  country- 
men are  the  most  buo3'ant  and  happily-constituted 
nation  under  the  sun.  No  adversity  crushes  a French- 
man ; no  calamity  utterly  disheartens  him.  See,  am  I 
not  a living  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  assertion  ? 
After  all  I have  borne,  all  I have  lost,  I have  made 
myself  contented  in  this  obscure  valley,  earning  my 
bread  by  using  the  accomplishments  which  were 
bestowed  on  me  for  a very  different  purpose.” 

‘‘  Then  you  were  not  alwaj^s  a teacher,  papa?  You 
have  been  rich,  and  grand  as  the  family  at  the  Grange  ? 
Is  it  not  so  ? ” 

Lapierre  sighed  wearily  : 

“ It  matters  very  little  what  I have  been,  Claire.  I 
am  now  only  music,  language,  and  dancing-master  to 
a little  girl ; and  through  the  liberality  of  her  mother 
I am  able  to  make  a bare  support.  I am  thankful 
even  for  that,  and  acknowledge  that,  amid  all  my 
afflictions,  God  has  been  good  to  me  to  enable  me  to 
gain  so  peaceful  a haven  for  my  old  age  ; so  secure  a 
shelter  for  my  little  girl.” 

Claire  caressingly  said : 

But,  dearest  papa,  you  will  not  refuse  to  tell  me 
something  of  Avhat  happened  to  you  before  you  came 
to  the  Happy  Valley.  What  exiled  you  so  far  from 
your  native  land,  and  threw  so  dark  a shadow  over 
your  life  ? ” 

“ That  is  easily  told,  pStite.  Loss  of  fortune,  of 
station,  of  all  that  men  hold  precious  in  the  busy,  out- 
side world  save  honor,  expatriated  me.  I left  ray  son 
behind  me,  never  wishing  to  look  upon  his  face  again, 


56  the  clandestine  marriage. 

for  he — he  was  the  cause  of  my  ruin^ — of  my  exile.  1 
trusted  too  much  to  him,  and  through  him  my  downfall 
came. 

‘‘Armand  saved  something  from  the  wreck,  hut  I 
could  not  share  it,  for  I considered  it  unfairly  withheld 
from  those  who  had  trusted  us.  I was  a banker— a 
great  financier,  and  I prided  myself  on  my  reputation 
for  probity  and  sagacity.  I had  wealth  at  my  command, 
and  all  went  well  with  me  till  I associated  my  son  with 
me  in  my  business.  After  that,  things  went  wrong  ; I 
trusted  to  him  ; he  trusted  to  others  ; he  became  in- 
fatuated with  a heartless  woman,  neglected  our  affairs 
at  an  important  crisis  when  I was  absent,  and — wo 
were  ruined. 

The  world  always  harshly  judges  a man  who  fails 
in  business,  leaving  those  who  have  trusted  him  to  suf- 
fer through  him.  I did  not  escape  the  common  lot — 
and — and — I think  for  a season,  I must  have  been 
mad.  I will  not  describe  the  scenes  that  passed  be- 
tween my  son  and  myself.  He  would  not  give  up  the 
woman  who  had  infatuated  him,  though  he  saw  how  it 
cut  me  to  the  soul  to  see  him  so  enslaved. 

I cannot  tell  how  or  where  we  parted.  I can  only 
say  that  in  a paroxysm  of  anguish  that  I cannot  even 
now  recall  with  calmness,  I shook  the  dust  of  my  na- 
tive land  from  my  feet,  and  came  to  this  far  distant 
land  to  bury  myself  in  obscurity ; to  seek  a refuge  so 
lonely  and  obscure,  that  no  one  who  had  known  me 
should  ever  be  able  to  trace  me  ; where  the  history  of 
inv  misfortunes  could  never  follow  me.” 

‘‘And  my  mother  ? What  of  her?”  asked  Claire. 

‘ Did  she  not  accompany  you  from  France  ? ” 

“ '.io  ; I found  lier  in  tliis  country  ; and  through  her 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


57 


you  claim  a distant  tie  of  kindred  with  the  Courtnav 
family.  You  are  the  half  sister  of  Armand,  for  I have 
been  married  twice.  His  mother  was  the  daughter  of 
a nobleman  ; yours  was  a young  girl  I met  with  shortly 
after  I came  to  this  country.  We  boarded  in  the  same 
house  in  Philadelphia,  where  I remained  several 
months  trying  to  obtain  employment  in  some  mercan- 
tile house.  I failed,  because  I had  no  recommenda- 
tions, and  I resorted  to  teaching  to  win  the  means  of 
living.  Clara  Courtnay  was  alone  in  the  world,  and 
she  managed  to  make  a scanty  living  by  coloring  fash- 
ion-plates for  magazines. 

Our  mutual  isolation  drew  us  together,  and  we 
married.  Through  her  connection  with  the  family  at 
the  Grange,  I obtained  this  humble  home,  and  the  em 
ployment  that  has  enabled  me  to  live.  I prepared  th  e 
son  for  college ; and  now  Julia’s  education  affords  Mrs. 
Courtnay  the  pretext  for  paying  me  the  same  sum  sb< . 
allowed  for  that  of  Andrew.  I appreciate  her  liber^^- 
ity,  and  for  her  goodness  to  you  I can  never  be  suffi- 
ciently grateful.  She  is  only  your  godmother  ; but  in 
many  respects  she  has  been  a true  mother  to  j'ou.” 

Yes,  she  is  very  good  to  me,  and  I love  her  very 
dearly.  But  my  . own  mother — what  of  her  ? for  I 
have  no  recollection  of  her.” 

She  died  a few  days  after  your  birth  ; and  I have 
since  cared  for  little  beyond  the  narrow  sphere  of  my 
daily  duties,  and  the  love  of  my  one  ewe  lamb.  You 
are  everything  to  me,  Claire ; the  rest  of  the  world 
nothing.” 

. Dearest  father,  have  you  no  love  for  my  brother? 
Has  your  affection  for  him  so  utterly  died  out  that  he 
3an  claim  no  place  in  your  heart  ? ” 


58 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


“ How  can  I love  him  in  whom  I have  lost  all  faith  ? 
Armand  has  injured  me  beyond  forgiveness.  If  I had 
heard  from  him  through  all  these  dreary  years,  my 
heart  might  have  yearned  to  him  again,  but  he  has  ]iot 
communicated  with  me.  We  have  long  been  dead  to 
each  other — it  is  best  so.  " Let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead  never  speak  of  him  to  me  again,  my  child,  for 
it  is  bitterly  painful  to  me  to  recal  the  last  days  we 
spent  near  each  other.  Come,  my  pet,  let  us  have 
some  music  ; that  will  exorcise  the  demon  of  regret 
that  has  entered  my  heart ; yet  I was  not  to  blame  for 
what  occurred — no — I am  sure  I was  not.  We  can- 
not sit  on  the  portico  to-night,  for  we  should  be  too 
near  our  guest.  I wish  him  to  sleep  well,  that  he  may 
be  sufficiently  recovered  in  the  morning  to  go  upon 
his  way.  I cannot  help  feeling  that  his  presence  is  an 
inopportune  intrusion  in  our  quiet,  and  happy  home.” 

“ Come  then  to  my  retreat,”  said  Claire,  ‘‘  since  it 
is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  the  strains  of  your 
violin  will  only  reach  him  from  there  as  a soothing 
lullaby.” 

“ So  be  it,  then,”  was  the  reply,  and  the  two  left  the 
desolate  looking  eating  room. 

After  crossing  a wide  hall  which  had  fallen  partially 
to  ruin,  Claire  opened  the  door  of  a small  apartment 
with  a wide  window  at  the  further  end  placed  in  a 
recess  several  feet  deep.  This  window  was  so  com- 
pletely embowered  in  roses  and  jasmine,  as  to  need  no 
drapery  within,  and  the  summer  atmosphere  was  filled 
with  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers. 

A striped  carpet  of  gay  colors  covered  the  floor,  and 
old-fashioned,  quaintly  carved  furniture  stood  against 
the  walls.  There  was  a writing-table,  and  music-stand 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


59 

near  the  recess,  a cabinet  of  dark  wood,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room,  a spindle-legged  piano  which 
had  been  in  use  for  at  least  sixty  years.  There  was 
also  a.  small  rocking-chair,  and  the  heavier  ones  cov- 
ered with  faded  green  morocco. 

Claire  called  this  her  retreat,  and  she  had  lavished 
on  its  adornment  all  the  resources  at  her  command. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  engravings  framed  with 
bright-colored  autumn  leaves,  the  tints  of  which  were 
brought  out  and  preserved  by  a coat  of  varnish.  Bas- 
kets made  of  wire,  and  ingeniously  covered  with  moss, 
were  suspended  in  each  corner ; these  were  filled  with 
ferns,  mingled  with  roses,  and  other  common  flowers 
that  were  still  in  bloom,  arranged  with  such  skill  as 
proved  that  this  secluded  little  girl  had  the  eye  of  an 
artiste  for  effect ; and  the  heart  of  a poet  beating  in 
her  breast. 

Claire  drew  forward  one  of  the  large  chairs,  and  La- 
pierre  threw  himself  upon  it  with  an  air  of  languor  that 
was  unusual  with  him,  for  he  was  ordinarily  a bright, 
and  active  little  man,  in  spite  of  the  sixty  years  that 
had  passed  over  his  head. 

The  young  girl  placed  herself  before  the  open  piano, 
and  struck  a few  chords  ; the  instrument  was  in  better 
tune  than  miglit  have  been  expected  from  its  antique 
appearance,  but  the  old  Frenchman  had  a correct  ear, 
and  possessed  some  skill  in  mechanics,  and  his  efforts 
had  nearl)'^  restored  its  original  sweetness  of  tone. 

liapierre  mechanically  took  up  his  violin,  struck  into 
a weird  strain  of  German  music,  and  the  accompani- 
meut  played  by  his  daughter  was  soon  almost  lost  in 
the  volume  of  wild  melody  which  filled  the  room  and 
was  wafted  on  the  air  to  the  distant  apartment  of  his 
guest. 


60  the  clandestine  makkiage. 

As  he  played  he  forgot  his  troubles — his  presents 
ments  of  approaching  evil — for  he  was  a genuine  mu- 
sical enthusiast,  and  his  soul  revelled  in  the  sounds  his 
own  skill  evoked. 

At  length,  exhausted  by  the  fervor  which  he  had 
thrown  into  his  performance,  he  suffered  the  violin  to 
glide  from  his  grasp,  and  leaned  back  a few  moments 
without  speaking. 

His  daughter  also  ceased  to  play,  but  she  sat  wait- 
ing for  him  to  break  the  silence  that  fell  upon  them. 

After  a long  silence,  he  vaguely  said  : 

I wonder  if  it  is  true  that  in  Heaven  we  shall  have 
music  forever  floating  around  us.  I hope  it  is,  for  that 
alone  can  express  to  me  the  glory  and  the  beatitude 
of  the  hereafter.” 

‘‘  What  is  best  for  our  happiness  we  shall  doubtless 
have  there,  papa,”  said  the  soft  voice  of  Claire.  But 
do  not  speak  of  going  to  Heaven  now ; I need  you  too 
much  here  on  earth.” 

‘‘And  I must  stay  with  you  to  guard  you  and  guide 
you  through  the  most  critical  years  of  your  life,”  he 
replied  in  a tone  of  passionate  regret  and  doubt  which 
made  her  shiver  and  draw  nearer  to  his  side. 

He  felt  the  soft  touch  of  her  hand  upon  his  brow, 
and,  clasping  her  suddenly  to  his  heart,  he  went  on : 

“ God  is  merciful,  and  I will  pray  to  Him  for  the 
boon  I so  earnestly  crave.  I will  ask  Him  to  spare  me 
to  watch  over  the  fate  of  my  precious  darling  till  she 
is  capable  of  going  alone  upon  the  thorny  path  she  may 
have  to  tread  in  this  dark  and  weary  world.  Good 
night,  love  ! I must  go  now  and  look  after  my  patient; 
he  has  already  been  left  too  long  alone.  You  should 
seek  your  cduch  at  once,  for  it  is  past  our  usual  hour 
tor  retiring.” 


A FAMILY  HISTORY. 


61 


Claire  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  he  left  the  room. 

The  moon  had  risen  and  was  pouring  a flood  of  light 
through  the  uncurtained  window : the  two  often  sat 
thus  on  summer  nights  without  the  glare  of  a lamp  to 
break  the  spell  of  the  weird  music  Lapierre  was  so 
fond  of  playing  ; and,  when  she  was  left  alone,  the  girl 
did  not  light  one. 

She  opened  a door  which  gave  into  a smaller  room 
fitted  up  as  a sleeping  apartment.  A priedieu  was 
placed  beside  the  bed,  above  which  hung  a crucifix  of 
carved  ivory : Claire  knelt  upon  the  cushion  and,  after 
praying  long  and  fervently,  she  arose  and  prepared 
herself  for  repose. 

In  the  meantime,  Lapierre  visited  the  apartment  in 
which  Walter  Thorne  was  tossing  in  restless  sleep. 
Without  disturbing  him,  he  made  as  careful  an  exam- 
ination of  his  condition  as  was  possible,  and  left  the 
room  with  a troubled  expression. 

He  muttered  : 

“ This  young  stranger  may  be  sick  on  my  hands — 
he  may  be  long  recovering ; and  then,  God  knows 
what  may  come  of  his  unfortunate  detention  here. 
Yet,  he  must  stay — there  is  no  help  for  it,  though 
something  tells  me  that  evil  will  come  from  him  to  me 
and  mine.’’ 

Poor  father ! if  he  could  only  have  lifted  the  veil 
from  the  future  and  seen  what  was  to  be  the  result  of 
that  young  man’s  advent  beneath  his  roof,  I am  afraid 
that  he  would  very  reluctantly  have  used  such  skill  as 
he  possessed  to  save  the  life  of  the  stranger  he  had 
taken  in. 


62 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

GOOD  RESOLUTIONS  VS.  TEMPTATION, 

ON  the  following  morning  the  fears  of  M.  Lapierre 
were  amply  confirmed.  On  visiting  his  guest  he 
found  him  tossing  from  side  to  side,  flushed  with  fever, 
and  at  moments  slightly  delirious. 

He  carefully  examined  the  symptoms,  and  then  had 
recourse  to  a small  medicine-chest  filled  with  tiny  bot- 
tles, from  which  he  selected  two  remedies,  and  pre- 
pa^red  them  in  separate  cups.  Homeopathy  was  at  that 
day  little  known  in  the  United  States,  but  Lapierre 
had  seen  and  been  treated  in  sickness  by  Hahnemann 
himself,  and  he  had  unbounded  faith  in  his  system. 

In  his  exile  he  had  brought  with  him  some  of  the 
learned  German’s  books,  and  for  many  years  the  use 
of  the  subtle  remedies  they  prescribed  had  given  him 
confidence  in  their  efficacy.  He  now  offered  one  of 
them  to  the  sick  man,  but  after  tasting  it  he  scornfully 
said  : 

‘‘  Do  you  expect  me  to  be  benefitted  by  taking  a 
spoonful  of  water  occasionally?  I am  seriously  ill, 
and  I wish  a regular  physician  sent  for.  I am  able  to 
pay  for  every  attention  I receive,  let  them  cost  what 
they  may.” 

But  my  dear  young  friend,”  remonstrated  the  old 
man,  this  will  produce  a better  result  than  more 
nauseous  compounds ; I assure  you  it  will,  upon  my 
honor.  If  you  implicitly  follow  my  directions,  I will 
guarantee  that  in  a short  time  your  fever  shall  be 
broken,  and  yourself  in  a fair  way  of  recovery.  I en- 


GOOD  11 E e,  3 L U T I O N S. 


63 


treat  that  you  will  not  obstinately  reject  my  ministra- 
tions, for  I have  successfully  dealt  with  worse  cases 
than  this  threatens  to  be.” 

Then  you  must  be  a faith  doctor,  for  I can  taste 
nothing  but  water  in  what  you  have  offered  me.  My 
imagination  will  not  suffice  to  perform  a cure,  so  I in- 
sist that  a physician  who  understands  his  business  shall 
be  sent  for.” 

But  some  hours  must  elapse  before  Bledsoe  can 
be  got  here,  and  by  that  time  you  may  be  extremely 
ill.  The  drenching  you  got  last  evening  has  given  you 
an  inflammatory  fever  which  must  be  dealt  with  at 
once.  I can  cure  you  without  much  loss  of  strength, 
but  if  he  comes,  he  will  soon  reduce  you  to  the  con- 
dition of  an  infant.  There — do  be  reasonable  now, 
and  take  my  remedies  ; you  may  at  least  try  them  till 
old  Bledsoe  can  be  found,  and  brought  hither.” 

The  patient  rolled  his  wild  eyes  around  the  room, 
and  with  a faint  smile,  said  : 

I will  consent  to  swallow  them  on  one  condition, 
for  I know  they  cannot  hurt  me.” 

Well,  what  condition  is  that  ? I am  so  anxious  to 
cure  you,  that  if  it  is  not  verj^  unreasonable,  I will 
grant  it.” 

Let  that  pretty  daughter  of  yours  administer 
them.  From  a hand  of  such  an  angel  I believe  I would 
consent  to  take  poison.” 

Lapierre’s  eyes  flashed,  but  he  controlled  himself  and 
said  : 

What  nonsense.  It  is  not  fitting  that  a young  girl 
should  come  into  a sick  man’s  room.  You  understand 
that  yourself,  for  you  are  a gentleman,” 

Thorne  laughed  wildly. 


64 


THE  CLANDESTmE  MAHRIAGE. 


‘‘  Yes,  I am  what  the  world  calls  such,  for  I am  the 
son  of  a rich  man,  and  I have  had  the  advantage  of  a 
good  education.  If  that  makes  a gentleman,  I can 
style  myself  one  ; but  gentle  or  simple,  if  you  want 
me  to  take  that  tasteless  mess,  I tell  you  I won’t  touch 
it  unless  it  is  offered  to  me  by  the  fair  hands  of  that 
lovely  enchantress  who  gave  me  shelter  when  I came 
to  her,  bruised  and  forlorn. 

Ko  ; by  my  hopes  of  life  I swear, 

And  by  those  lips,  so  ripe  and  rare. 

And  by  those  eyes  of  softest  sheen, 

The  brightest  far  I e’er  have  seen.” 

I’ll  burn  with  fever,  shake  with  cold;  nay,  I’ll  die, 
and  let  the  green  turf  rest  upon  my  breast,  if  you  re- 
fuse me  the  ministrations  of  that  lovely  fairy.” 

“But  my  dear  sir,  that  is  impossible — out  of  all 
rule  you  know.” 

“ No,  I don’t  know  it,  and  I won't  know  it.  She  may 
be  able  to  work  a miracle  with  your  watery  prescrip- 
tions, but  you  can’t.  Ha  ! ha  ! I am  master  of  the  sit- 
uation. You  pride  yourself  on  such  skill  as  you  pos- 
sess, I clearly  see,  and  sooner  than  lose  the  chance  to 
experiment  on  me,  you’ll  give  in,  and  grant  the  boon  I 
ask.” 

Lapierre  gravely  said : 

“ I have  only  to  leave  you  to  your  own  obstinacy  for 
a few  hours,  and  you  will  be  in  no  condition  to  dictate 
terms.  You  will  not  then  know  what  I administer  to 
you,  or  by  whom  it  is  given.  Come,  be  reasonable 
now,  and  consent  to  swallow  a spoonful  of  these  rem- 
edies every  fifteen  minutes.  They  will  cool  your  fever, 
and  clear  your  mind.  You  are  not  perfectly  sane,  oi 
you  would  not  talk  as  you  did  just  now.” 


GOOD  RESO^  JTIONS. 


65 


“Sane — who  is  perfectlj"  sane,  I wonder?  Some 
philosopher  has  asserted  that  eveiy  man  has  some  fav- 
orite madness.  Mine  has  just  developed  itself,  and  it 
manifests  itself  in  admiration  for  your  charming  daugh- 
ter. Let  her  give  me  your  slops,  and  the  effect  will 
!)e  magical.  I adore  beauty,  and  the  contemplation  of 
her  angelic  face  will  act  as  a sedative  upon  me.  Oh  ! 
I know  you  will  yield,  for  a quack  is  always  anxious 
to  have  his  nostrums  tried.” 

Lapierre  shook  his  head  and  firmly  said  : 

“ You  are  mistaken  there,  young  man.  My  daugh- 
ter cannot  be  permitted  to  act  as  your  nurse,  even  if 
you  refuse  what  will  save  you  from  severe  attack  of 
illness.” 

“ Ah,  stuff ! you  are  not  in  earnest,  though  I am, 
and -” 

The  contest  might  have  continued  much  longer,  had 
it  not  been  ended  by  the  entrance  of  Claire  herself ; 
she  took  the  cup  and  spoon  from  her  father’s  hand, 
and  softly  said  : 

“ I heard  something  of  what  he  said,  father,  and  as 
so  much  depends  on  the  prompt  administration  of  the 
medicine,  I cannot  refuse  to  give  it  to  him  myself.  I 
will  sit  in  the  next  room,  and  come  in  at  regular  inter- 
vals, while  you  watch  beside  him.  A delirious  man 
must  not  be  held  accountable  for  his  fancies.” 

Lapierre  frowned  and  bit  his  lips,  but  he  made  room 
for  her  by  the  bedside,  and  the  sick  youth  took  the 
potion  from  her  with  a lingering  look  of  thanks  and 
admiration. 

He  sank  back  upon  his  pillow,  faintly  saying : 

“ Thank  you.  I knew  that  you  were  my  good  angel, 

4 


6U 


THE  CLANDESTINE  M A K 1!  I A G E. 


TilOl-3  IS  no  need  of  sending  for  another  physician  no  w . 
I feel  that  I shall  do  very  well.” 

‘‘ Umph  ! ” muttered  the  vexed  father.  “If  1 liaa 
a horse  here,  I believe  1 should  go  for  old  Bledsoe 
without  delay,  and  allow'  him  to  dose  you  into  your 
grave  as  speedilj'  as  might  be.  1 begin  to  fear  that 
such  a denouement  will  be  best  for  all  concerned.” 

“ Don’t  mutter,  Mr.  Stone,  for  that  is  yoxxv  name  in 
English.  It  is  ill  manners  to  mutter,”  said  Thorne,  in 
a jeering  tone.  “ I feel  better  alread}^  thanks  to  Mad- 
emoiselle. I’ll  shut  my  eyes  now%  and  dream  of  that 
bright  vision  till  it  shines  on  me  again.  Don't  speak  a 
word,  if  you  please  ; I am  going  into  the  seventli 
heaven  of  beatitude;  the  one  in  which  all  glories 
culminate  ; where  lovely  forms  and  angel  faces  are 
found  in  greatest  perfection.  Those  Mahometan  fel- 
lows talk  of  Houris,  but  what  are  they  to  the  peerless 
creature  I have  found  in  this  old  ruin  ? ” 

He  folded  his  hands  upon  his  breast  and  closed  his 
eyes  ; the  Frenchman  looked  at  him  and  thought : 

“ Why  should  I take  umbrage  at  his  vagaries  ? lie 
is  so  flighty  that  he  scarcely  knows  what  he  is  saying  ; 
but  a few  hours  hence  he  w'ill  be  calmer,  and  then  iie 
will  acknowledge  the  efficacy  of  my  medicines.  Yes — 
yes — he  shall  confess  that  I have  skill.  I’ve  managed 
worse  cases  than  this,  and  I’ll  soon  have  him  on  his  feet 
again.  Then  he  may  go  from  my  dove-cote  and  leave 
my  birdling  safe  in  her  nest  with  her  fond  old  father.” 

For  the  next  two  hours  the  deep  silence  that  reigned 
in  the  apartment  w'as  only  broken  by  the  appearance 
of  the  young  nurse  and  the  murmured  thanks  of  the 
sick  Ilian  as  he  took  from  her  hand  the  medicine  or 
which  her  father  declared  so  much  depended. 


GOOD  RESOLUTION'S. 


67 


At  the  end  of  that  time  Thorne  fell  into  a deep  slum- 
ber, and  soon  afterward  the  moisture  that  appeared  on 
his  forehead  assured  Lapierre  that  the  worst  symptoms 
had  passed  away  and  his  patient  probably  saved  from 
the  severe  illness  he  had  dreaded. 

To  cure  him  speedily  and  rid  himself  of  his  presence 
beneath  his  roof,  was  now  the  stronges_t  wish  of  La- 
pierre’s  heart.  The  young  stranger’s  openly  express- 
ed admiration  of  his  daughter  was  extremely  displea&ing 
to  him  ; he  regarded  her  still  as  a child,  but  it  was  evi- 
dent that  his  guest  looked  on  her  in  a Yerj  diflPerent 
light,  and  how  he  should  save  his  darling  from  the 
glamour  this  handsome  and  cultivated  man  might  en- 
deavor to  throw  over  her  young  and  inexperienced 
heart,  became  his  one  thought. 

For  two  days  Thorne  was  unable  to  leave  his  bed, 
and  M.  Lapierre  rejoiced  that  they  were  the  two  on 
Y/hich  he  could  absent  himself  from  the  Grange.  Sat- 
urday and  Sunday  passed  away  in  the  ceaseless  care  of 
the  invalid,  but  it  was  found  impossible  to  banish  Claire 
from  the  sick  room.  Young  Thorne  insisted  that  to 
her  presence  he  owed  his  rapid  progress  toward  recov- 
ery, and  at  the  slightest  symptom  of  obstinacy  on  the 
part  of  Lapierre  he  became  utterly  unmanageable  and 
would  not  be  coaxed  or  argued  into  accepting  such 
remedies  as  would  complete  his  cure. 

Neither  would  Claire  consent  to  be  excluded,  for  she 
was  amused  by  the  vagaries  of  the  refractory  patient 
and  interested  in  his  recovery.  She  flitted  in  and  out, 
arranging  his  pillows,  bathing  his  forehead  when  he 
complained  of  headache,  and  performing  those  services 
so  gently  and  naturally  that  her  father  finally  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  safest  to  say  nothing 
mote  to  her  on  the  sulqect. 


68 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


She  was  yet  too  young  to  become  the  object  of  a 
grand  passion,  he  thought,  and  far  too  child-like  to 
return  it.  Let  her  aid  in  restoring  this  unwelcome 
guest  to  health,  and  then  he  could,  go  upon  his  way 
and  forget  the  good  Samaritans  who  had  nursed  him 
through  his  illness. 

On  Monday  morning  M.  Lapierre’s  duties  at  the 
Grange  compelled  him  to  leave  his  patient  to  the  joint 
care  of  his  daughter  and  old  Betty,  distasteful  as  it  was 
to  him  to  do  so.  By  this  time  Thorne  was  out  of  dan- 
ger, but  he  was  impatient  and  restless ; anxious  to 
leave  his  bed,  but  still  too  much  indisposed  to  do  so 
with  safety. 

But  he  refused  to  listen  to  the  cautions  of  the  old 
man,  and  insisted  that,  wrapped  in  the  dressing  gown, 
he  could  lie  on  a wide  old-fashioned  sofa  which  stood 
in  the  outer  room.  He  Avas  weary  of  the  little  den  in 
which  he  lay ; he  must  get  out,  or  he  could  not  answer 
for  the  consequences ; his  fever  would  return ; he 
would  suffer  from  a relapse,  and  then  all  would  be  over 
for  him. 

Thinking  in  his  heart  that  Walter  Thorne  was  the 
most  refractory  patient  he  had  ever  undertaken  to 
manage,  M.  Lapierre  at  last  gave  in.  His  pillows 
Avere  transferred  to  the  sofa,  and  after  making  such  a 
toilette  as  was  possible  Avith  the  assistance  of  his  host, 
the  sick  man  found  his  way  to  it,  and  Avith  a sigh  of 
satisfaction  placed  himself  in  a comfortable  position. 

This  is  much  better,”  he  said.  I feel  like  a dif- 
ferent person  already.  Noav,  if  I can  only  be  amused, 
I shall  do  very  well.  I have  a volume  of  Shelley  in 
the  pocket  of  my  coat,  hoAvever,  and  if  you  Avill  only 
permit  your  daughter  to  read  aloud  to  me,  I shall  be 


GOOD  KESOLUTIONS.  69 

most  grateful.  She  has  a charming  voice,  and  I am 
persuaded  that  she  reads  delightfullj^” 

The  old  man  regarded  him  in  grim  silence  a few 
moments,  and  then  said  : 

‘‘Ton  are  certainly  the  coolest  youngster  I ever  have 
seen.  I do  not  know  that  it  will  do  any  harm  for 
Claire  to  read  to  you,  and  on  two  conditions  I will 
consent.” 

Pray  name  them,  my  dear  sir,  and  if  possible  I will 
accede  to  them.” 

‘‘  Oh,  they  are  not  very  difficult  to  comply  with. 
The  first  one  is,  that  you  will  listen  to  Christ’s  sermon 
on  the  Mount  read  by  her  young  lips  ; after  taking 
that  to  heart,  I scarcely  think  you  will  find  my  secoinl 
one  unreasonable.” 

The  first  is  granted ; now  for  the  other.” 

It  is  that  you  will  respect  her  extreme  youth  and 
ignorance  of  life  sufficiently  to  refrain  from  attempt- 
ing to  gain  any  influence  over  her  mind  or  heart.  You 
are  rich  and  high  in  station  ; she  is  poor  and  humble  ; 
her  only  doAver  her  innocence  and  beauty.  You  can- 
not stoop  to  our  level,  nor  lift  my  child  up  to  yours,  so 
I ask  you  to  refrain  from  using  to  her  such  flattering 
language  as  Avorldly  men  are  prone  to  with  every  pretty 
and  attractive  girl  they  meet.” 

There  was  both  dignity  and  pathos  in  the  words, 
cind  with  a deep  flush  mantling  his  handsome  face, 
Thorne  slowly  said  : 

''  After  such  an  appeal  as  that,  sir,  I should  be  a 
wretch  if  I attempted  to  tamper  with  the  affections  of 
your  daughter.  I believe  that  I am  incapable  of  mak- 
ing so  base  a return  for  the  kindness  you  have  shown 
to  me.  You  may  trust  Claire  with  me  as  safely,  as  if 
I were  her  brother.” 


70  the  clandestine  marriage. 

The  father’s  brow  cleared,  and  he  more  cordially 
tsaid  ; 

“I  thank  you  for  that  assurance,  Mr.  Thorne,  and  I 
accept  it  in  good  faith.  No  man  worthy  of  the  name 
would  pledge  his  honor  to  a course  he  did  not  intend 
to  pursue.  I will  send  my  daughter  to  bear  you  com- 
pany till  my  return.  I shall  be  back  myself  in  a few 
hours,  for  I have  but  one  pupil  now,  and  she  is  too  young 
to  be  kept  long  at  her  lessons.” 

Thank  you  for  conceding  so  much,”  was  the  reply, 
but  the  face  of  the  young  man  flushed  slightly,  and 
he  looked  uneasily  after  the  retiring  form  of  his  host. 

He  presently  muttered : 

I can’t  do  without  the  child,  for  she’s  nothing 
more.  I should  die  of  ennui  if  I were  left  to  myself, 
and  she  is  certainly  the  most  piquante  and  charming 
creature  I have  ever  beheld.  There  can  be  no  real 
danger  to  me  in  this  association,  for  my  fate  is  settled. 

Ah  me  ! I wish  it  were  not ! Is  my  own  heart 
playing  the  traitor  to  me,  that  I begin  to  rebel  against 
the  iron  will  of  my  father  ? No,  that  cannot,  shall  not 
be.  I must  be  on  honor  with  this  J^oung  creature.  I 
I will  be  on  honor  with  that  good  old  man  who  has 
been  so  kind  to  me.  I will  treat  her  as  a lovely  and 
attractive  child,  and  as  soon  as  I am  strong  enough 
to  go  upon  my  way,  I will  leave  her  to  forget  the 
stranger  to  whom  she  has  so  sweetly  ministered.  I 
can  pay  the  father  for  his  trouble,  but  for  the  daughter 
I can  do  nothing  better  than  to  leave  her  as  pure  and 
innocent  as  I found  her. 

‘‘  Yet  my  heart  yearns  to  take  her  to  it  as  the  bright- 
est and  sweetest  possession  it  could  claim.  If  I could 
shake  off  the  shackles  that  bind  me,  and  assert  uiv 
right  to  choose  oiy  own  fate,  how  happy  I might  be  ! 


GOOD  HE  SOLUTIONS. 


71 


''  But  that  is  impossible,  so  why  should  I think  o\ 
it  ? I am  the  slave  of  another’s  will,  so  I must  curb 
my  vagrant  propensities,  and  guard  my  ’heart  against 
the  tender  interest  this  lovely  creature  has  already  in- 
spired. 1 am  the  betrothed  of  another,  and  an  en- 
tanglement here  would  ruin  me.  Besides,  I have 
pledged  my  honor  to  the  old  man,  and  I must  not  for- 
feit it.  Heigh  ho  ! ” 

The  sigh  with  which  he  concluded  these  reflections 
echoed  through  the  room,  and  a soft  voice  spoke  close 
beside  him. 

‘‘  Are  you  suffering,  Mr.  Thorne  ? My  father  sent 
me  to  read  to  you,  but  perhaps  I had  better  give  you 
a sedative.  You  look  flushed  and  restless.” 

He  smiled  brightly  and  said : 

The  best  sedative  for  me  will  be  the  sound  of  your 
voice,  my  fair  nurse.  I did  not  sleep  well  last  night, 
and  I feel  as  nervous  as  a fine  lady  this  morning. 
Ridiculous,  isn’t  it,  for  a strong  man  like  me  to  com- 
plain of  nervousness  ? ” 

Not  if  it  is  the  result  of  illness,”  was  the  reply, 
“ and  you  have  been  very  sick.  Papa’s  skill  has  brought 
you  up  sooner  than  I dared  to  hope,  for  on  the  first 
da}^  of  your  illness  I was  greatly  alarmed  at  your  con- 
dition. You  have  had  a terrible  fever,  you  know,  and 
we  must  guard  against  a relapse.” 

''  Yes,  I intend  to  be  very  careful  : but  do  you  really 
believe  that  the  tinctures  and  pellets  administered  to 
me  in  such  infinitesimal  quantities,  could  have  pro- 
duced aii}^  effect  upon  my  stalwart  frame?  It  seems 
nonsense  to  think  so ; my  constitution  is  strong  enough 
to  throw  off  disease,  that  is  all.” 

Claire  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  doubt,  aa 


72 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


if  she  scarcely  comprehended  him ; but  she  finally 
shook  her  pretty  head,  and  with  a faint  smile,  said : 

It  does  not  matter  now  whether  you  have  faith  or 
not,  as  papa  does  not  pretend  to  work  miracles.  You 
are  out  of  danger  now,  and  that  is  enough  for  him  and 
me.  He  sent  me  here  to  read  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
to  you.  I am  glad  you  wish  to  hear  it,  for  I like  it 
best  of  anything  in  the  Bible.  It  should  be  best  though, 
for  it  was  our  Saviour  himself  who  spoke  those  divine 
and  beautiful  words.” 

‘‘  Yes,  I know,  but  there  is  a great  deal  in  it  that  is 
hard  on  such  a mere  worldling  as  myself.  I will  listen 
to  you.  Rose,  and  try  to  profit  b}^  the  teachings  of  those 
ruby  lips.  You  are  not  offended  that  I have  given  you 
the  name  of  the  queen  of  flowers  that  you  blush  so 
charmingly  ? I wish  you  would  let  me  call  you  Rose- 
Inid  as  the  old  woman  does.” 

Claire  simplj^  replied ; 

Did  I blush  ? I change  color  very  easily,  and  you 
must  not  mind  it.  I am  but  a child  yet,  papa  says,  so 
if  it  suits  you,  you  may  call  me  Rosebud.” 

rose  with  all  its  sweetest  leaves  unfolded,’” 
quoted  Thorne  with  his  radiant  smile. 

‘‘  But  I must  be  careful  not  to  brush  the  dew  from 
its  petals;  no,  by  Heaven!  I will  not  I Sit  there, 
Rosebud,  beside  my  couch  where  I can  hear  but  can- 
not see  3"OU,  for  if  I look  on  you  I shall  forget  all  about 
what  3"ou  are  reading.  I am  going  to  take  my  first  les- 
son in  goodness  to-day  from  the  pure  lips  of  an  angel.” 

She  laughed  at  this,  and  as  she  took  the  seat  as- 
signed her,  merrily  said : 

Angels  have  no  mortal  failings,  and  if  you  could 
see  me  in  what  mammy  Betty  calls  one  of  my  tantrums, 


GOOD  EESOLUTIONS. 


73 


you  would  think  me  very  far  from  being  even  distantly 
related  to  them.^  I can  be  as  naughtj?^  sometimes  as 
any  other  bad  child.” 

He  pretended  to  look  incredulous. 

‘‘What!  can  those  liquid  eyes  flash  with  temper  I 
That  lute-like  voice  lose  its  dulcet  tones  I impossible  ! 
You  only  wish  to  make  me  think  that  you  share  the 
faults  of  mortals  to  take  from  me  the  fear  that  the 
creature  who  has  so  little  of  our  mundane  nature,  may 
take  wings  to  herself  and  fly  away  to  the  sphere  to 
which  she  of  right  belongs.” 

With  a pretty  assumption  of  dignity  Claire  repli- 
ed : 

“ You  must  not  talk  to  me  in  this  way.  Papa  told 
me  that  I must  check  your  presumption  if  you  attempt- 
ed to  say  flattering  things  to  me.  You  have  done 
nothing  else  to  me  since  I came  in,  and  if  you  do  not 
put  yourself  on  your  good  behavior  I must  go  away 
and  leave  you  alone.” 

Thorne  looked  embarrassed  at  this  rebuke  ; he  laugh- 
ed constrainedly,  and  said : 

“ Pardon  me.  Mademoiselle.  I have  been  rather  ob- 
livious^  of  my  compact  with  your  father,  but  the  lan- 
guage of  flattery  comes  so.  naturally  to  my  lips  in  the 
presence  of  one  of  your  sex,  that  I utter  it  uncon- 
sciously. I promise  to  offend  thus  no  more.  Lull  me 
to  repose,  sweet  child,  by  reading  the  lesson  set  for  us 
by  your  father.  After  that  we  will  have  something 
more  congenial  to  my  taste.” 

Claire  gazed  at  him  for  a moment  with  widely  open- 
ed eyes,  and  her  lips  unclosed  to  reply  to  his  last 
words,  but  she  seemed  to  change  her  mind ; with  a 
little  sigh  she  opened  the  small  Bible  she  held  in  her 


T4 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


hand.,  found  what  slie  wanted,  and  began  to  read  in  a 
clear,  well-modulated  voice. 

Walter  Thorne  closed  his  eyes  and  listened  a few 
moments,  but  he  did  not  believe  in  the  divine  mission 
of  Him  whose  words  were  so  reverently  repeated,  and 
very  soon  the  melody  of  the  voice  was  all  that  appeal' 
cd  to  him.  He  heard  it  floating  around  him  as  one  in 
a vague  dream  ; while  his  thoughts  went  wandering  off 
to  his  distant  home  and  the  jarring  interests  centered 
there. 

He  was  a man  of  wilful  temper  and  strong  passions, 
combined  with  a weakness  of  purpose  that  often  ren- 
dered him  the  sport  of  his  own  wayward  fancies. 
With  such  a being  good  resolutions  are  only  made  to 
be  broken,  and  every  moment  spent  near  the  beautiful 
child  of  nature  who  sat  beside  him  seemed  to  weaken 
those  to  which  he  had  pledged  himself. 

His  musings  were  interrupted  by  the  closing  of 
Claire’s  book,  and  the  sudden  silence  that  fell  around 
them.  The  dreamer  started,  and  quickly  said  : 

‘‘  Now  the  sermon  is  over,  we  will  have  poetry  that 
shall  thrill  your  soul  to  its  inmost  depths.  It  will  add 
a new  charm  to  Shelley  to  read  over  his  finest  strains 
with  you.” 

Claire’s  knowledge  of  poetry  was  limited  to  Milton’s 
“Paradise  Lost”  and  Pollock’s  “Course  of  Time,” 
for  he]*  father  did  not  permit  her  to  read  indiscrimin- 
ately, though  there  was  a fine  library  at  the  Grange  to 
which  she  had  access. 

Walter  Thorne  was  a very  fine  reader,  and  when  he 
raised  himself  to  a sitting  posture,  and  threw  his  whole 
soul  into  some  of  the  finest  passages  in  the  volume  he 
was  so  familiar  with,  the  young  girl  listened  in  raptu- 


GOOD  KEbOLU  TIO?^  S.  75 

rous  silence,  her  eloquent  face  too  truly  reflecting  the 
emotions  of  her  heart. 

His  eyes  wandered  from  the  page  to  the  fair  face  of 
this  beautiful  child  of  impulse  ; and  every  moment 
spent  near  her  only  served  to  enfeeble  the  good  resolu- 
tions he  had  made.  He  felt  the  passion  she  had  in- 
spired growing  more  potent  with  eiich  passing  moment, 
and  his  self-indulgent  nature  prompted  him  to  ask  of 
himself  why  he  should  repress  it  ? 

Why  should  he  not  brave  the  anger  of  the  father 
who  had  hitherto  so  despotically  ruled  him,  and  woo 
and  win  this  lovely  wayside  flower,  making  her  law- 
fully his  own,  and  giving  her  the  position  she  could  so 
fitly  adorn  ? He  shrank  from  the  thought  of  that  oth- 
er one  to  whom  he  was  pledged,  and  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  would  do  well  to  place  a barrier  between 
. himself  and  his  betrothed  which  even  his  father  would 
hesitate  to  break. 

Colonel  Thorne  would  relent,  would  forgive  him  for 
thwarting  his  wishes  when  he  saw  this  lovely  wild 
flower,  the  fairest  and  sweetest  that  man  had  ever 
plucked  from  its  parent  stem.  He  persuaded  himself 
that  he  was  weary  of  the  world  and  its  vanities ; he 
believed  that  he  could  be  contented  to  make  his  Eden 
^ in  this  retired  valley,  the  world  forgetting,  by  the 
world  forgot,”  if  by  doing  so  he  could  only  secure  the 
companionship  of  the  Eve  who  now  made  it  so  enchant- 
ing to  him. 

Walter  Thorne  was  ])ul  twenty-three  years  old,  bur 
he  had  lived  a fast  life,  and  he  was  already  sated 
with  the  pleasures  which  society  offers  to  young,  rich, 
and  reckless  men  like  himself.  As  Alexander  wept  for 
new  worlds  to  conquer,  he  sighed  for  a new  sensation 


76 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


which  would  be  powerful  enough  to  arouse  him  from 
the  apathetic  dullness  into  which  all  things  had  fallen 
for  him. 

The  freshness  of  his  youth  was  gone  : the  glamour 
departed  which  once  had  glorified  the  world  to  his 
perceptions  ; and  in  that  state  of  collapse,  he  had  sub- 
mitted to  the  will  of  his  father  with  regard  to  the  mar- 
riage he  desired  him  to  make. 

He  proposed  to  Agnes  Willard,  thinking  she  Avould 
g]*ace  his  table  and  manage  his  house  as  well  as  any 
other,  and  he  believed  himself  as  much  in  love  with 
her  as  he  ever  should  be  with  any  woman.  But,  after 
the  engagement  was  made,  he  felt  as  if  he  must  escape 
for  a season  from  the  bondage  into  which  he  had  fall- 
en, for  his  fiancee  was  exacting  and  expected  from 
him  a devotion  he  knew  himself  incapable  of  render- 
ing. 

He  left  her  in  tears,  and  set  out  on  his  vagrant  wan- 
derings as  an  artist,  with  the  promise  to  return  in  Oc- 
tober and  take  on  himself  the  station  of  a Benedict. 
He  knew  that,  in  honor,  he  was  bound  to  Miss  Willard 
— that  she  was  passionately  attached  to  him ; yet  his 
heart  had  first  awakened  from  its  long  slumber  at  the 
sight  of  the  maid  of  the  valley,  and  Thorne  compre- 
hended, for  the  first  time,  how  ardently  he  was  capa- 
ble of  loving. 

The  sweet  and  artless  ways  of  Claire  more  strongly 
rivetted  the  chain  he  struggled  to  break,  and,  as  he 
listened  to  her  fresh  young  voice,  he  thought  that  to 
secure  it  as  the  music  of  his  home  would  be  to  redeem 
him  from  dissipation — to  bring  him  back  to  honor  and 
purity,  never  dreaming  that,  after  a few  brief  weeks  of 
possession,  he  might  grow  weary  of  his  toy  so  far  as  to 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


77 


feel  that  the  sacrifice  of  his  future  prospects  would  be 
too  heavy  a price  to  pay  to  retain  it. 

Thorne  was  still  weak,  and  the  effort  of  thinking 
tired  him  ; so  he  suffered  himself  to  be  lulled  to  forget- 
fulness by  the  low,  soft  tones  that  vibrated  on  his  ear 
— for  Claire  had  taken  up  the  volume  when  he  laid  it 
aside,  and  was  reading  to  him  from  its  pages. 

He  felt  like  one  lapped  in  a delicious  dream  which 
he  cared  not  to  have  broken  ; and,  when  the  young  girl 
looked  up,  his  closed  eyes  and  placid  expression  caused 
her  to  believe  that  he  was  sleeping.  His  hand  had 
fallen  by  the  side  of  the  sofa,  touching  the  folds  of  her 
dress  ; and,  after  gazing  on  him  a few  moments,  she 
stooped  and  pressed  her  lips  to  it. 

The  touch  was  as  light  as  the  dropping  of  a rose-leaf, 
but  it  thrilled  through  the  unstable  man  who  now 
counterfeited  sleep  to  see  what  she  would  next  do. 
Claire  arose,  and  stood  looking  down  on  him  with  an 
expression  of  tender  sweetness — her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  her  bosom  heaving  with  the  new  emotions  that 
were  struggling  for  utterance  ; and,  unconsciously,  she 
murmured : 

Oil,  if  he  had  died  ! If  his  noble  form,  his  beauti- 
lul  face  had  gone  down  to  the  dust,  wdiat  would  have 
tlie  feelings  of  those  who  love  him — of  those  who 
huve  the  right  to  do  so  ? Ah  me  ! ” 

The  deep  sigh  that  ended  her  words  put  to  flight  the 
Vr'civering  resolutions  of  Thorne  to  sacrifice  his  new- 
boiMj  passion  and  leave  his  interest  in  her  unspoken. . 
His  expressive  eyes  flashed  wide  open,  he  started  up, 
rind  throwing  his  arm  around  her  slender  form,  with 
passionate  utterance  exclaimed : 

''  M}’  darling,  would  it  have  given  your  tender  heart 


78 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


a pang  if  I had  never  risen  from  my  sick  bed  ? Speak, 
my  own,  my  best  beloved,  for  I would  learn  the  truth ; 
speak  it  frankly,  Rosebud,  for  it  may  influence  our 
whole  future  lives/' 

She  extricated  herself  from  his  embrace,  blushing 
rosy  red,  and  naively  asked : 

‘‘  How  can  you  Jove  one  who  was  a stranger  to  you 
but  a few  days  ago  ? Don’t  talk  so,  please,  Mr.  Thorne, 
for  my  father  says  that  a great  and  rich  gentleman  like 
you  can  be  nothing  to  me.  I — I was  only  pitying  you 
because  you  look  so  pale  and  tired.  You  must  not 
call  me  your  darling,  for  I am  only  that  to  papa.” 

He  sunk  back  with  a clouded  brow,  and  presently 
said : 

You  are  right.  Rosebud.  I am  wild  this  morning, 
I believe.  My  head  is  not  quite  right  yet ; but  I do 
love  my  pretty  nurse  right  well — I wish  you  to  believe 
and  remember  that  let  what  will  happen  hereafter. 
Oh,  how  I hate  the  cold  conventionalities  of  this  life ; 
they  crush  our  best  hopes,  our  noblest  aspirations,  leav- 
ing nothing  better  than  husks  to  sustain  it.” 

The  bitterness  oi^  his  tones  alarmed  her,  but  she 
gently  said : 

After  what  I lately  read  to  you,  I thought  you 
would  feel  that  we  have  something  more*  to  do  in  this 
world  than  to  care  for  ourselves.  Let  me  read  the 
history  of  the  prodigal  son,  and  you  will  see  that  his 
father  gave  him  something  better  than  husks  to  nurture 
him  ; and  our  Father  will  be  as  good  to  us,  if  we  ask 
Him  in  the  right  spirit.” 

Why  what  a quaint  little  Puritan  it  is  ! ” exclaim- 
ed Thorne,  with  a laugh.  Only  read  on,  my  child 
and  I will  listen  as  one  enclianted  to  the  soft  music  of 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


79 


your  tones.  Good  Heavens  ! why  can’t  I talk  common 
sense  to  you?  My  unbridled  tongue  will  utter  the 
language  of  gallantrj^,  though  I promised  your  fatlier 
to  be  careful  of  what  I said.  Think  that  I am  still 
delirious,  my  dear,  and  pardon  the  slips  of  the  tongue 
of  which  I have  been  guilty.” 

She  sat  down  again,  and  rather  tremulously  replied  : 

I think  I fully  understand  that  you  mean  very  lit- 
tle by  what  you  say.  It  is  the  way  of  the  people  of 
the  world,  papa  says,  and  I think  he  knows,  for  he  was 
once  a man  of  the  world  himself.” 

Then  M.  Lapierre  has  not  always  lived  in  this 
secluded  spot  ? ” 

‘‘Oh,  no;  he  was  once  rich  and  grand,  but  he  lost 
everything  and  came  away  from  France.  For  many 
j^ears  he  has  lived  here,  and  I was  born  here.  Of 
course,  I am  but  a simple  child,  but  I wish  you  would 
speak  only  the  words  of  soberness  and  truth  to  me. 
Then  I shall  not  be  tempted  to  misunderstand  you, 
you  know.” 

“ Very  well — I promise  to  be  on  my  guard — that 
shall  be  our  compact.  I thought  your  father  superior 
to  his  present  condition  ! Is  he  a political  exile  ? ” 

She  looked  puzzled. 

“ I scarcely  know  what  you  mean  ; he  is  not  an  exile 
as  you  understand  it,  for  he  came  to  this  country  of 
his  own  free  will.” 

“Oh,  that  answers  my  question.  It  was  no  dif6* 
culty  with  the  government  then  that  induced  M. 
Lapierre  to  expatriate  himself.  Can  you  tell  me  what 
position  he  held  in  his  native  land  ? ” 

“ It  was  a good  one,  I suppose,  for  he  was  a banker  ; 
but  he  failed  through  the  mismanagement  of  one  he 


80 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MAEKIAGE. 


trusted.  He  gave  up  everything,  and  came  to  the 
United  States  to  win  his  bread  by  any  employment  lie 
could  find.  Since  papa  has  told  me  this,  I have  lox^ed 
him  better,  and  respected  him  more  than  ever ; but  I 
am  sorry  he  has  been  so  unfortunate.  He  deserves 
something  better  than  the  petty  employment  that 
barely  enables  us  to  live.  He  says  that  he  is  unable 
to  put  anything  by,  and  when  he  is  taken  from  me  I 
shall  have  to  depend  upon  my  own  exertions  for  a sup- 
port. It  is  sad  for  him  to  know  that,  but  I pray  to 
the  good  God  to  spare  him  to  me,  and  enable  me  in 
time  to  do  something  for  him.” 

Claire  prattled  on  thus  with  the  freedom  of  a child 
to  the  friend  it  has  learned  to  trust,  and  the  blending 
of  simplicity  and  earnest  thought  fascinated  her  listen- 
er more  deeply  than  ever.  He  presently  said  : 

“I  may  be  instrumental  in  placing  your  father  in  a 
position  more  worthy  of  his  abilities.  I will  think  of 
it,  and  see  what  can  be  done.  At  all  events,  Rose, 
both  he  and  you  will  have  a fast  friend  in  the  man 
whose  life  you  have  saved.  Remember  that,  pretty, 
one,  and  when  you  are  praying,  ask  God  to  make  him 
more  worthy  of  your  friendship.” 

‘‘  Ah,  Mr.  Thorne,  do  you,  so  good,  so  noble,  think 
yourself  less  worthy  than  we  are  ? I will  indeed  pray 
for  your  happiness — for  your  prosperity.  I will  ask 
that  you  shall  be  made  a truly  good  and  pious  man, 
but  you  are  more  than  worthy  of  our  regard  now.” 

With  some  emotion  the  young  man  said  : 

You  are  a sweet  and  sinless  angel  yourself.  Rose- 
bud, and  you  judge  me  by  yourself,  as  all  pure  natures 
are  prone  to  do.  But  my  experience  has  been  differ-  I 
ent  from  yours  ; I have  known  sin  and  sorrow,  and 


GOOD  KESOLIJTIONS. 


81 


have  felt  remorse  for  my  own  evil  doings.  There  is  a 
wide  gulf  between  us — a gulf  tliat  must  never  be 
passed,  for  it  would  bring  you  into  dark  and  turbid 
waters,  that  might  forever  wreck  yonv  bark  of  life.  I 
will  repress  my  own  selfish  3"earnings  and  leave  you  as 
f found  you,  in  ‘ maiden  meditation,  fancy  free.’  ” 

The  listener  scarcel}"  understood  his  meaning,  but 
she  grew  pale  as  she  heard  his  words,  and  after  a 
pause,  softly  said  : 

“ We  are  all  sinners  in  the  sight  of  infinite  purity  ; 
but  to  comfort  us  our  Father  has  said  : ‘ Though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  made  as  white  as 
snow.’  Yours  can  never  have  been  of  that  kind,  you 
have  a tender  conscience,  or  you  would  not  feel  as  you. 
do  now.” 

Thorne  was  touched  by  her  simple  faith  in  him,  but 
lie  shocked  her  by  laughing  aloud,  and  she  recoiled 
from  him  with  a dismayed  expression  on  her  fair  face. 

In  a penitent  tone  he  said  : 

Pardon  mo,  sweet  saint.  My  laughter  was  out  of 
place,  but  I was  but  mocking  myself  as  I listened  to 
your  simple  Avords.  Tender  conscience  indeed.  Ah  me, 
I am  afraid  that  I have  hitherto  turned  a deaf  ear  to 
the  whisperings  of  mine  ; but  I intend  to  try  and  be  a 
better  man  from  this  day  forth,  I promise  it  to  you,  to 
myself,  so-  read  me  the  prodigal  son,  and  I will  try  to 
profit  hj  the  lesson  it  inculcates.” 

With  quiet  gravity  the  young  girl  obeyed,  but  she 
averted  her  face  from  him,  and  there  was  the  sound  of 
stifled  tears  in  her  voice,  which  went  to  the  heart  of 
tlie  listener.  lie  was  making  an  effort  to  do  good, 
but  lie  found  it  very  difficult  to  walk  in  the  vStraight 
path  of  rectitude,  where  this  lovely  creature  was  con- 


82 


THE  CLAN^DESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


cerned.  He  felt  his  pulse  quicken,  his  brain  whirling 
as  he  thought : 

How  easily  I could  make  her  love  me  to  that  de- 
gree that  she  Avould  sacrifice  home,  father,  everything 
for  my  sake.  Yet  I dare  not — I dare  not.” 

When  Claire  finished  the  parable,  she  suddenly  arose 
and  said : 

“ You  have  had_reading  enough  for  one  day,  for  you 
are  looking  tired  and  flushed.  I must  go  to  Mammy 
Betty  now,  but  I will  look  in  on  you  after  a while, 
and  at  eleven  I will  send  her  with  your  luncheon.” 

Going  to  leave  me  all  alone.  Rose  ? I understood 
your  father  to  say  that  you  would  be  my  companion 
till  he  returns.  My  own  thoughts  bore  me  ; I entreat 
that  you  will  come  back  as  soon  as  possible  and  sing  to 
me.  I heard  you  caroling  to  your  bird  this  morning, 
and  I thought  your  voice  fresher  and  sweeter  than  his, 
though  he  is  called  the  Virginia  nightingale.” 

With  some  embarrassment,  she  replied  : 

“I  do  not  feel  as  if  I can  sing  to-day,  sir;  but  if 
you  wish  it,  I will  bring  papa’s  violin  and  play  for 
you.” 

“ Do  you  really  play  on  the  violin  ? What  a queer 
instrument  for  a lady.” 

“Do  you  think  so?  It  is  the  best  one  we  have 
about  the  house,  for  the  piano  is  old,  and  jingles  some- 
times, so  I coaxed  papa  to  teach  me  how  to  use  his  in- 
strument. I cannot  play  as  he  does,  but  perhaps  I can 
amuse  you.” 

“ Bring  it  by  all  means.  It  will,  at  least,  be  some- 
thing new  to  see  the  bow  handled  by  a pretty  girl.” 

Claire  left  the  room,  and  Thorne  gazed  after  her 
retreating  form  with  love-lit  eyes.  She  did  not  look 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


83 


back,  or,  young  and  inexperienced  as  she  was,  she 
must  have  understood  the  meaning  of  that  fervent 
glance.  He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  groaned  : 

“ Oh,  for  the  power  to  rule  my  own  destiny  ! Yet 
why  should  I not  ? My  father  has  land,  and  gold  ; far 
more  than  I shall  ever  need,  and  I am  his  only  child. 
He  is  a stern  and  resolute  man ; but  he  would  scarcely 
east  me  off  entirely  if  I were  to  break  the  fetters  with 
which  he  has  bound  me,  and  secure  the  one  bright 
spirit  I have  ever  coveted  as  my  very  own.  With  this 
sweet  guardian-angel  to  watch  over  me,  I should  be- 
come a noble  and  true  man ; as  the  husband  of  Agnes 
Willard  I shall  be — God  knows  what!  I shall  recoil 
from  her ; I shall  treat  her  badly,  I know  I shall,  for 
there  are  deep  wells  of  bitterness  in  my  nature  that 
will  overflow  upon  the  woman  I may  be  forced  to  ac- 
cept as  my  wife. 

‘‘What  evil  fate  sent  me  hither?  Had  I never  met 
this  enchanting  creature,  I should  have  accepted  the 
destiny  that  has  been  settled  for  me,  and  have  passed 
my  life  as  tamely  and  respectably  as  most  men  do. 
Now^  it  may  not  be.  Having  seen  Claire,  all  that  is 
good  and  true  within  me  bows  down  before  her,  and 
offers  homage  to  her.  The  very  consciousness  that  she 
is  near  me,  breathes  a subtle  happiness  through  every 
fibre  of  my  being — the  touch  of  her  hand  is  intoxica- 
tion— the  tones  of  her  voice  enchantment.  Oh,  this 
is  the  veriest  madness  ; and  what  must  it  end  in  to  her, 
to  me  ? God  help  me,  for  I have  no  strength  left — no 
power  to  struggle  against  this  infatuation.” 

He  lay  back  with  closed  eyes  and  compressed  lips, 
trying  to  calm  himself  before  the  return  of  Claire,  yet 
inwardly  fretting  her  delay,  for  she  was  absent  more 
than  half  an  hour. 


84 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


At  the  end  of  that  time  slie  came  in,  carrying  tlie 
violin  in  her  hand,  and  with  a bright  smile,  said  : 

You  think  this  an  awkward  instrument  for  me  to 
manage,  and  perhaps  it  is  ; but  I am  veiy  partial  to  it 
nevertheless.  It  is  more  like  .the  human  voice  tlian 
any  other,  and  therefore  it  must  be  the  most  perfect  of 
all.  Papa  has  taken  great  pains  with  me,  and  I can 
play  quite  creditably,  I assure  you.” 

‘‘  I do  not  doubt  it,  but  the  horrid  scrapings  that 
puts  the  thing  in  tune  always  jars  on  my  nerves.” 

‘^In  your  present  condition  I thought  that  might 
annoy  you,  so  I tuned  it  perfectlj^  before  I came  in. 
Will  you  have  gay  or  sad  music  ? ” 

Which  do  you  prefer  ? ” 

Oh,  I like  either,  according  to  my  mood.  But  j^ou 
need  something  to  brighten  you  up,  so  I shall  play 
‘ Molly  put  the  kettle  on,’  with  variations  which  mon 
phe  has  composed.  It  will  be  appropriate,  too,  for 
Mammy  is  preparing  a cup  of  tea  for  you,  with  some- 
thing more  substantial.” 

Without  giving  him  time  to  reply,  Claire  struck  into 
the  gay  air  she  had  named,  moving  to  and  fro,  uncon- 
sciously keeping  time  with  it  by  the  movements  of  her 
small  feet.  Thorne  thought  that  he  had  never  seen 
any  creature  half  so  attractive,  as  her  face  brightened 
and  lier  motions  quickened  with  the  strain.  He  had 
thought  the  instrument  awkward  and  unsuited  to  one 
01  her  sex  ; but  the  grace  with  which  she  wielded  the 
bow,  tlie  negligent  ease  with  which  she  held  the 
violin,  induced  him  now  to  believe  that  few  things 
could  be  more  attractive  than  a lovely  girl  playing  on  a 
fiddle. 

Claire  executed  the  long  variations  without  a false 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


86 


note,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  performance,  Thorne  cried 
out  : 

‘‘  Bravo  ! No  professor  could  have  done  it  better.  I 
declare,  Rosebud,  you  are  a marvel  of  grace  and  tal- 
ent. Do  you  know  that  you  are  a musical  genius  ! ” 
Do  you  really  think  that,  Mr.  Thorne  ? It  is  good 
news  to  me  ; for  if  it  is  so,  I can  teach  music  some  day 
and  help  papa  along.  I so  often  wish  that  I could  do 
something  to  assist  him  ! ” 

Dear  child,  you  shall  yet  be  the  means  of  placing 
him  in  a better  position  than  he  now  occupies  ; yes,  I 
promise  you  that  it  shall  be  so.  Since  M.  Lapierre 
understands  business  affairs,  it  is  a shame  that  he 
should  bury  himself  in  this  lovely  valley.  He  shall 
enter  the  world  again,  find  remunerative  employment, 
and  win  for  himself  as  good  a position  as  the  one  he 
has  lost.” 

‘‘  Oh,  if  that  could  ever  be  ! ” and  she  clasped  her 
hands,  and  sank  on  a seat,  eagerly  regarding  his  face, 
as  if  to  see  if  he  really  meant  what  he  had  said.  Thorne 
gravely  replied : 

It  shall  be,  Claire,  if  he  will  only  listen  to  me.  I 
believe  that  I shall  be  able  to  help  him  forward.  My 
father  possesses  wealth  and  influence,  and  I am  sure 
that  I can  induce  him  to  use  both  in  the  service  of  the 
man  to  whom  I owe  my  life.  At  all  events,  no  efforts 
on  my  part  shall  be  wanting,  and  I hope  that  I shall 
yet  see  you  placed  in  the  sphere  to  which,  by  right  of 
grace  and  beauty,  3^011  belong.” 

‘‘  It  is  not  myself  I am  thinking  of,  Mr.  Thorne. 
No-  -no — it  is  of  the  best,  and  dearest  of  fathers.  If 
he  could  only  see  a prospect  of  providing  for  me,  he 
would  be  so  happy,  and  I — I should  ever  be  grateful 


86 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


to  the  friend  who — who  will  do  so  much  for  him.  1 
would  regard  him  almost  in  the  light  of  a brother.” 

The  last  w^ord  came  from  her  lips  with  a little  hesi- 
tation in  its  utterance,  and  Thorne  looked  radiant.  He 
understood  women,  and  the  heart  of  this  untutored 
child  lay  bare  before  him  ; he  felt  the  exalting  assur- 
ance that  her  destiny  would  soon  be  at  his  disposal, 
for  he  read  in  the  tremulous  tones  of  her  voice,  in  the 
troubled  light  of  her  soft  eyes,  the  secret  of  which 
she  was  not  aware  herself. 

He  knew  that  a few  more  days  of  such  unreserved 
companionship  would  bring  to  her  young  heart  the 
fever  that  devoured  his  own ; would  secure  to  him 
what  he  so  passionately  desired,  the  love  of  a creature 
as  pure  and  unselfish  as  she  was  beautiful.  He  arose 
from  his  sofa,  and  gaily  said : 

I feel  almost  renovated  by  your  exhilarating  mu- 
sic. I begin  to  believe  that,  like  those  bitten  by  the 
tarantula,  your  magic  strains  have  wrought  on  me  a 
complete  cure.  Give  me  the  violin.  Rosebud,  for  I 
can  play  upon  it  passably.  Will  you  dance  for  me  ? 
I long  to  see  the  poetry  of  motion  illustrated  by  you.” 

With  perfect  simplicity  she  at  once  arose,  and  said: 

Of  course  I will  if  you  wish  it,  for  papa  told  me 
to  amuse  you  the  best  way  I could.  I know  many 
fancy  dances,  but  my  own  favorite  is  the  Cachucha. 
Shall  I bring  my  castanets  ? ” 

“ Pray  do  ; it  will  be  enchanting  to  see  you  rival 
even  the  divine  Elssler  herself.” 

Claire  sped  gaily  away,  and  after  a few  moments  re- 
turned wearing  a pair  of  high  Polish  boots  made  of  red 
morocco,  which  fitted  to  perfection.  She  whirled  rapidly 
into  the  room  bearing  the  castanets  above  her  head ; 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


87 


Thorne  struck  into  the  tune,  watching  the  gracefully 
poised  figure  before  him,  wondering  if  any  creature 
was  ever  more  bewitching  or  more  unconscious  of  her 
rare  power  to  charm. 

The  sparkling  face  of  the  dancer  varied  with  every 
change  in  the  melody,  and  her  movements  seemed  but 
echoes  to  the  strain,  so  perfect  was  the  time  she  kept. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  dance  the  musician  played  so 
rapidly  that  Claire  threw  herself  on  a chair  breathless, 
and  laughing.  After  a few  moments,  she  said  : 

I think  that  is  enough  for  one  day.  A few  more 
moments  would  have  turned  it  into  a wild  witch  dance. 
I must  rest  now,  and  here  at  the  most  opportune  mo- 
ment, comes  mammy  with  your  lunch.” 

Her  words  were  truer  than  she  thought,  for  if  Betty 
had  not  come  in  at  that  crisis,  Thorne  would  have 
forgotten  his  promise  to  her  father ; ignored  his  own 
half-formed  resolutions,  to  remove  himself  from  the 
glamour  of  her  presence,  and  have  given  utterance  to 
the  passionate  words  of  love  that  thronged  to  his  lips. 

The  old  woman  drew  up  the  fine  table,  spread  a 
napkin  over  it,  and  placed  upon  it  the  tempting  viands 
she  had  prepared.  There  was  but  one  cup  and  plate, 
and  Thorne  said  : 

‘‘  So  you  intend  that  I shall  eat  alone,  Aunty  ? Now 
that  I am  well  enough  to  sit  up,  I expect  some  one  to 
do  the  honors  for  me.  You  must  be  hungrj^  after  the 
exercise  you  have  taken.  Rosebud,  so  pray  assist  me 
to  demolish  those  birds,  and  that  mound  of  toast.” 

’Taint  a bit  more'n  you  ought  ter  eat  yerself,” 
snapped  the  old  women,  “ an’  ef  Miss  Claire  wants 
anything  herself,  she  knows  where  she  can  always  git 
it.” 


88 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


‘‘  My  dear  Mrs.  Betty,  don’t  insist  on  impossibilities. 
I could  not  eat  half  the  nice  things  you  have  set  before 
me,  so  you  can  save  your  other  provisions,  and  permit 
your  young  lady  to  partake  of  my  lunch.  I shall 
sternly  refuse  to  touch  a morsel  unless  she  sits  at  the 
table  and  pours  out  my  tea.” 

‘‘  She  can  do  dat  ef  she  chooses,  caze  I aint  no  power 
to  ’vent  her ; but  if  she  was  my  darter,  she  shouldn’t 
be  a settin’  of  herself  up  to  do  whatever  you  axed  her, 
nohow.  My  name  aint  Mrs.  Betty  nuther ; I’m  only 
Betty,  and  I’m  a honest  ’oman  what  looks  sharp  arter 
what  she’s  bound  to  see  ter.  Dis  ’ere  chile  had  better 
come  wi’  me,  for  I shan’t  be  a fillin’  of  her  head  wi’ 
all  sorts  o’  fool  nonsense.  I does  wonder  at  de  marster 
— I does — a goin’  off  to  the  Grange,  and  leavin’  de 
chile  like  a lamb  in  the  wolf’s  clutches.” 

Claire  arose  and  stood  before  her  with  flashing  eyes, 
and  dilating  nostrils,  and  Thorne  saw  that  her  own 
words  of  herself  were  true  ; that  she  was  not  always 
the  gentle  and  yielding  creature  he  had  imagined  her 
In  a low  voice  full  of  concentrated  passion,  she  spoke  : 

“ How  dare  you  address  my  father’s  guest  in  so 
insulting  a manner  ? Go  at  once  and  bring  me  a plate 
and  cup.  I shall  share  Mr.  Thorne’s  luncheon,  and 
we  can  dispense  with  your  services  till  you  are  in  a 
more  respectful  humor.  My  father  knows  that  I am 
quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  myself,  and  in  any 
case,  he  Avould  hardly  delegate  to  you  the  v/atch  of  a 
duenna.” 

Betty  sullenly  answered  : 

I don’  know  what  dat  is.  Miss  Claire,  but  Til  go 
as  you  tells  me.  I wash  my  ban’s  of  all  daCs  to  come 
in  dis  here  readin’  and  dancin’.  1 knows  suffin  o’  de 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 


89 


woi-r  ef  you  don’t — you  iiinercent  babe  dat  you  is  ; 
but  ef  de  furnace  is  open  an’  de  fires  Idndled,  Jcan’t 
’vent  you  from  walkin’  in  it,  so  de  bref  of  de  hot  air 
will  burn  up  all  dat’s  happy  an  sweet  Avidin’  you. 
Mark  my  words  chile,  an’  see  ef  dey  don’t  come  true.” 

I do  not  understand  you,  but  I comprehend  very 
well  that  you  intend  to  be  impertinent  and  intrusive. 
Bring  me  what  I require,  and  say  no  more,  if  jmu 
please.” 

She  looked  like  a young  queen,  her  lover  thought, 
as  she  turned  proudly  from  the  old  woman  and  sat 
down  opposite  to  himself,  with  a brilliant  flush  upon 
her  rounded  cheek.  When  Betty  had  left  the  room, 
she  looked  up  at  him  Avith  a wavering  smile,  and  said  : 

Pray  excuse  mammy’s  rudeness.  She  means  Avell, 
but  she  is  brusque,  and  I lost  my  temper  at  her  absurd 
interference.  I hope  this  little  scene  Avill  not  spoil 
your  appetite*  When  I have  Avaited  on  you,  I must 
go  and  make  friends  with  the  old  woman,  for  she 
has  been  with  us  ever  since  I can  remember.  She 
means  well,  though  she  takes  too  much  on  herself 
sometimes.” 

By  this  time,  Betty  had  returned  with  the  things  for 
which  she  had  been  sent.  She  overheard  the  last 
Avords  of  Claire,  and  darting  a spiteful  glance  at 
Thorne,  said  : 

“ Don’t  ’pology  for  mg.  Miss  Claire.  I ain’t  ’shamed 
o'  what  I don  said,  for  it’s  God’s  trufi*e,  as  you’ll  find 
out  some  o’  dese  days.  You’s  a gettin’  iii  de  deep 
Avaters  o’  temptation,  an’  you’d  better  say  de  Lord’s 
pra’r  an’  think  o'  de  meanin’  o'  de  Avords — dat’s  all 
I’ve  got  to  say.” 

Before  any  reply  could  be  made  she  Avas  out  of  the 
room,  closing  the  door  behind  her  Avith  a bang. 


90 


THE  CLAKDESTIKE  MARRIAGE. 


‘‘  What  a quaint  old  creature,”  said  Thorne,  but  he 
felt  uncomfortable,  and  it  was  several  moments  before 
he  recovered  his  usual  equanimity.  But  Claire  exerted 
herself  to  make  him  forget  this  little  scene,  and  they 
had  a merry  time  together,  laughing  and  talking  over 
the  table.  He  declared  the  tea  to  be  nectar,  and  again 
called  her  Hebe.  She  laughed,  and  said  : 

I know  nothing  about  heathen  mythology,  but  I 
looked  in  papa’s  classical  dictionary  to  find  out  who 
Hebe  was,  after  you  called  me  by  her  name.  She  was 
tlic  handmaid  of  the  gods  I discovered.” 

Yes — and  so  charming  that  even  Juno  was  jealous 
of  her.  I feel  like  Jupiter  enthroned,  I assure  you.” 

“ Yes,  on  a shabby  old  sofa,  in  a fiowered  dressing- 
gown.  You  might  pass  for  a god,  perhaps,  but  your 
surroundings  will  not  carry  out  the  delusion.” 

“ I feel  as  happy  as  a god  at  any  rate,  and  I scarcely 
think  that  Hebe  herself  was  as  fair  as  my  cupbearer. 
But  I will  be  discreet — I will  not  justify  old  Betty’s 
tears  by  talking  what  she  would  stigmatize  as  ‘ fool 
nonsense.’  ” 

‘‘No,  you  must  go  to  sleep  now.  I shall  darken  the 
room  and  leave  you  to  repose,  for  we  have  talked  non- 
sense enough  for  one  morning.” 

Thorne  watched  her  as  she  gathered  up  the  things 
upon  the*  table,  and  placed  them  on  the  waiter.  Betty 
came  in  looldng  sulkj^  and  took  them  away  ; and  in 
spite  of  his  entreaties  not  to  be  left  alone,  Claire  closed 
the  curtains  and  went  away. 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


91 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 

After  thinking  over  the  late  scene,  Walter  Thorne 
through  sheer  weariness,  fell  into  an  uneasy  slum- 
ber, which  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a carriage 
driven  to  the  door.  He  half  arose  from  his  recumbent 
position  and  looked  dreamily  toward  the  entrance, 
wondering  who  could  be  coming  to  break  the  tranquil 
repose  of  everything  around  him. 

M.  Lapierre  ushered  into  the  apartment  a ladj^,  fol- 
lowed by  a little  girl  about  nine  years  of  age.  In  his 
quick  way  the  old  Frenchman  said : 

‘‘  How  are  you  by  this  time,  Mr.  Thorne  ? I have 
brought  you  a visitor.  Mrs.  Courtnay,  of  the  Grange, 
was  kind  enough  to  become  interested  in  my  account 
of  you  and  your  wonderful  escape,  and  she  proposed 
herself  to  come  and  see  you.” 

Thorne  made  as  courtly  a bow  as  was  possible  under 
the  circumstances,  and  said  : 

‘^I  am  sure  that  I am  grateful  for  Mrs.  Courtnay ’s 
kindness.  Indeed  I feel  quite  honored  by  receiving 
the  first  call  from  a lady.”  ^ 

In  his  heart  he  felt  the  deepest  annoyance  that  an 
observant  and  worldly-wise  woman  should  come,  pro- 
bably to  put  an  end  to  the  sweet  love  idyl  he  was  be- 
ginning to  find  so  entrancing,  but  his  manner  was  that 
of  the  most  polished  courtier. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  came  toward  him  with  the  quiet  grace 
of  perfect  good-breeding,  and  he  saw  that  the  refined 
sweetness  of  her  fair  face  was  but  the  reflex  of  the 


92 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MAKRIAGE. 


spirit  within.  She  was  a tall,  well-fornaed  woman,  still 
wearing  widow’s  weeds,  though  her  husband  had  been 
dead  many  years,  and  they  set  off  the  delicate  fairness 
of  her  complexion,  blonde  hair  and  clear  blue  eyes 
with  much  greater  effect  than  colors  could  have  done. 

Though  the  mother  of  a son  who  had  numbered  nine- 
teen years,  Mrs.  Courtnay  was  still  a most  attractive 
and  elegant  looking  woman.  In  a voice  as  refined  as 
her  appearance  was  pleasing,  she  addressed  the  in- 
valid : 

Pray  do  not  attempt  to  rise,  Mr.  Thorne.  My  old 
friend,  M.  Lapierre,  has  been  telling  me  of  your  mar- 
vellous escape,  and  1 became  so  much  interested  in  the 
hero  of  such  an  adventure,  that  I determined  to  come 
and  see  you.  It  was  lucky  for  you  that  our  friend 
possessed  such  skill  in  medicine,  or  your  fever  might 
have  gone  hard  with  you.” 

Thorne,  in  spite  of  his  usual  self-possession,  was  em- 
barrasired  and  annoyed,  and  he  could  find  nothing  bet- 
ter to  say  than  : 

I am  sure  I am  much  obliged  to  M.  Lapierre  for 
his  kindness  : and,  to  you.  Madam,  for  the  interest  you 
are  good  enough  to  express  in  m3^self.  As  to  my  heroic 
qualities,  the  less  said  about  them  the  better,  I am 
afraid.  The  least  courageous  creature  will  do  battle 
for  life.  I confess  the  struggle  tasked  all  my  resources, 
but  I was  fortunate  enough  to  win.  Thanks  to  my 
kind  host,  I -shall  soon  be  able  to  resume  my  wander- 
ings, but  they  can  be  to  little  purpose  now,  as  I was 
unfortunate  enough  to  lose  my  portfolio  and  its  con- 
tents, and  I suppose  they  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
Lady’s  Tarn.” 

She  smiled  and  replied: 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


93 


It  was  partly  to  inform  you  of  their  safety  that  I 
came  hither,  Mr  Thorne.  Let  me  explain:  one  of  my 
negroes  was  sent  on  an  errand  beyond  the  valley  on 
Satiirdaj^  He  chose  the  short  cut  through  the  pass, 
and  he  found  lying  against  the  large  boulder  that  stands 
above  the  tarn  a portfolio  with  an  oil  skin  cover  over  it. 
I know  it  is  yours,  for  your  name  is  written  on  the 
backs  of  several  of  the  sketches.  The  water  has 
scarcely  injured  them  at  all,  and  I should  have  brought 
them  with  me  if  I had  not  made  up  my  mind  that  you 
are  to  return  with  me  to  the  Grange,  and  be  nursed 
back  to  health  there.  I hope  you  will  not  decline  my 
invitation,  for*  my  artistic  taste  is  such  that  it  will  af- 
ford me  much  pleasure  to  claim  one  of  the  craft  as  my 
guest  for  a season.'’ 

Thorne  flushed,  looked  more  annoyed  than  before, 
and  said : 

'‘You  are  too  good,  Mrs.  Courtnay ; but — really,  I 
feel  unable  to  exchange  my  quarters  just  at  present, 
and  I find  myself  so  well  off  here  at  present,  that  I think 
I had  better  remain,  at  least  till  I regain  my  strength. 
M.  Lapierre  has  not  yet  dismissed  me  as  a patient,  and 
grateful  as  I am  to  you,  I think  I had  rather  stay  with 
those  who  have  taken  such  good  care  of  me.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  earnestly  replied : 

“ Believe  me,  the  change  I propose  will  be  better  for 
all  concerned,  Mr.  Thorne.  M.  Lapierre  comes  to  my 
house  eveiy  day,  and  he  can  watch  over  your  conva- 
lescence as  well  there  as  here.  I insist  that  you  have 
no  scruples  on  the  score  of  our  recent  acquaintance  ; 
and  it  will  be  no  trouble  to  me  to  receive  an  invalid. 
I have  an  experienced  nurse  in  my  family,  and  your 
room  is  already  prepared  for  your  reception.  It  will 


94  the  clandestine  makkiage. 


be  a pleasure  to  me  to  entertain  you,  and  it  will  be  far 
more  convenient  to  me  to  have  a sick  guest  on  my 
hands,  than  it  is  to  my  friends  here.’' 

Lapierre  had  left  the  room  in  search  of  his  daughter, 
followed  by  the  little  girl,  and  rightly  interpreting  the 
clouded  face  of  the  young  man,  Mrs.  Courtnay  chose 
to  place  before  him  what  she  hoped  would  prove  a con- 
clusive reason  for  his  removal. 

Thorne  coldly  replied : 

You  are  very  kind,  Madam,  but  I must  say  that  I 
should  prefer  remaining  here  a few  days  longer.  I 
shall  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible,  and  I can  offer  to 
my  host  such  an  equivalent  as  he  will  not  refuse  to 
accept.  To  yon  I could  offer  nothing  of  the  kind,  and 
I cannot  consent  to  thrust  myself  on  the  charity  of  a 
perfect  stranger.  Accident  threw  me  on  the  kindness 
of  M.  Lapierre,  but  with  you  it  would  be  different.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  regarded  him  with  a penetrating 
glance  ; she  presently  asked  with  extreme  gravity  ; 

Can  you  not  divine  my  motive,  sir,  for  insisting 
on  carrying  you  off  to  the  Grange  in  spite  of  such  op- 
position as  you  may  offer  ? ” 

Thorne  looked  up,  but  his  eyes  fell  before  the  clear 
orbs  that  were  fastened  upon  his  face. 

‘‘  I — I am  at  a loss  to  understand  you.  Madam,”  was 
the  evasive  reply. 

Then  I shall  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  sir. 
M.  Lapierre  has  a young  and  very  lovely  daughter, 
Avho  is  just  at  the  most  susceptible  age.  Claire  is  too 
attractive  for  lier  own  good,  I am  afraid,  and  she  is  far 
too  inexperienced  to  know  her  own  danger  before  it  is 
too  late.  I take  a deep  interest  in  her,  for  she  is  my 
g(Kl-daughter,  and  also  a distant  relative  of  my  chit 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


95 


dren.  As  soon  as  M.  Lapierre  related  his  story  and 
gave  me  a personal  description  of  yourself,  I decided 
that  you  must  remove  to  my  house.  It  is  improper  for 
a young  girl  like  Claire  to  be  left  to  nurse  and  amuse 
a young  man  as  attractive  as  yourself ; and  M.  La- 
pierre’s  engagements  must  take  him  from  home  many 
hours  of  every  day.  Now^  you  will  consent  to  go  back 
with  me,  Mr.  Thorne,  for  jon  are  too  much  of  a gen- 
tleman to  abuse  the  hospitality  of  this  good  old  man 
by  trifling  with  his  daughter.  Excuse  my  plainness  of 
speech,  but  it  is  best  to  be  open  with  each  other  under 
the  circumstances.” 

Thorne  arose  and,  with  heat,  exclaimed  : 

‘‘  I find  you  too  frank,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  I scarcely 
know  how  to  receive  such  insinuations.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I could  be  villain  enough  to  act  dishonorably 
toward  such  an  angel  of  sweetness  and  beauty  as 
Claire  Lapierre  ? I admit  that  I have  felt  the  force  of 
her  attractions,  and  I will  be  as  frank  with  you  as  you 
have  chosen  to  be  with  me.  I have  made  up  my  mind 
to  the  course  I will  pursue,  and  nothing  shall  turn  me 
from  it.  My  father  is  a man  of  high  position  and  great 
wealth  ; I am  his  only  child,  and  must  eventually  in- 
herit the  latter.  The  object  of  my  choice  is  well  con- 
nected, so  there  can  be  no  objection  on  the  score  of 
family  ; and  as  to  fortune,  Claire  is  so  highly  endowed 
in  other  respects  that  my  father  will  hardly  insist  on 
that.  You  are  the  friend  of  this  old  gentleman  and 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  in  your  hands  I think 
I may  venture  to  place  my  cause.  I can  elevate  your 
young  protegee  to  a brilliant  position,  and  I pledge 
you  my  honor  to  remove  such  difficulties  as  may  be  in 
the  way  of  our  speedy  union.” 


96 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


Mrs.  Courtnay  listened  to  this  abrupt  avowal  with 
extreme  surprise.  She  very  gravely  asked  : 

Are  you  quite  sure  that  your  father  would  consent 
to  your  marriage  with  a girl  in  so  obscure  a position  as 
that  of  Claire?  I scarcely  think  so  young  a man  as 
yourself  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  his  hand  without  first 
consulting  his  friends.  It  is  but  a few  days  since  you 
were  received  here,  and  the  passion  you  have  so  sud- 
denly conceived  for  my  young  friend  may  die  out  as 
speedily  as  it  sprang  into  existence.” 

That  is  impossible,  for  her  very  presence  is  joy  and 
life  to  me.  The  consent  of  my  father  must  be  won  ; it 
shall  be,  for  nothing  shall  stand  between  myself  and 
the  enchanting  being  I have  already  learned  to  love 
with  all  the  fervent  passion  of  my  heart.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  reflected  a few  moments,  and  then 
said : 

You  seem  to  be  deeply  in  earnest,  Mr.  Thorne,  and 
I will  not  question  the  statements  you  have  made  to 
me  ; but  you  must  be  aware  that  a father  cannot  give 
up  his  child  to  a stranger  without  making  such  inquiry 
into  his  antecedents  as  will  assure  him  as  far  as  possi- 
ble that  she  will  be  happy  and  respected  in  her  new 
estate.” 

Of  course  I will  submit  to  any  inquiry  M.  La- 
pierre  may  desire  to  make.” 

He  will  have  ample  time  for  that,  for  Claire  is  yet 
too  young  to  marry.  She  is  not  fifteen,  and  two  years 
at  least  must  elapse  before  you  would  be  permitted  to 
claim  her  as  your  wife.” 

Two  yearn!  ” exclaimed  the  lover  in  an  accent  of 
despair.  “ Two  ages  of  doubt,  fear,  and  separation ! 
My  dear  Madam,  say  two  months  of  delay  and  I will 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


97 


consent  to  wait  that  long  for  my  happiness,  but  not 
beyond  it.  I can  remain  in  the  valley  till  September, 
but  when  I leave  it  Claire  must  be  m}^  companion.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  smiled  faintly,  but  she  decisively 
said : 

That  will  be  quite  impossible.  M.  Lapierre  will 
never  consent  to  give  up  his  daughter  at  so  tender  an 
age  ; and,  moreover,  if  she  is  to  fill  a high  position,  she 
must  complete  her  imperfect  education.  Claire  has 
had  few  advantages,  but  I shall  do  all  that  is  in  my 
power  to  afford  her  more.  I have  always  intended  to 
do  so  when  she  was  old  enough  to  be  sent  away  to  a 
boarding-school.  I have  not  hitherto  spoken  of  it  to 
her  father,  because  I have  a prejudice  against  sending 
a girl  from  her  own  home  till  she  is  mature  enough  to 
have  some  character  of  heo?  own  and  not  be  too  much 
influenced  by  her  new  associations.  Besides,  Claire  is 
so  great  an  idol  with  her  father  that  I believed  it  would 
be  difficult  to  win  his  consent  to  a separation  from 
her.” 

I am  sincerely  glad  to  hear  the  last  statement. 
Madam ; for  Claire,  in  her  sweet  and  guileless  simpli- 
city, is  far  more  attractive  than  the  finest  model  young 
lady  ever  turned  out  of  a fashionable  school.  I entreat 
that  you  will  lay  aside  sucli  a plan  for  her  benefit  and, 
in  its  i)lace,  win  M.  Lapierre’s  consent  to  an  early 
union  between  his  daughter  and  myself.  Girls  often 
marry  as  young — nay,  judging  from  your  appearance, 
you  must  have  married  at  a very  early' age  yourself, 
for  1 have  been  told  that  you  are  the  mother  of  a 
grown-up  son.” 

The  lady  blushed  slightly  as  she  replied ; 

‘‘Yes,  1 gave  my  hand  to  r/iy  husband  when  I was 
G 


98 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


little  older  than  Claire  now  is  ; but  I was  an  orphan 
and  not  happily  situated,  that  was  my  excuse.” 

“ I do  not  think  you  needed  one,  Mrs.  Courtnay, 
and  I am  suro  that  you  never  had  cause  to  regret  your 
early  marriage.” 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  in  a low  voice  she 
said : 

‘‘No,  never.  For  ten  years  of  my  life  I was  a happy 
wife.  My  first  great  sorrow  was  the  loss  of  my  hus- 
band.” 

“ Then  you  will  induce  M.  Lapierre  to  permit  his 
daughter  to  follow  your  example,  for  I swear  to  you 
that  I will  be  as  tender  and  true  to  her  as  Mr.  Court- 
nay  was  to  yourself.” 

And,  in  making  this  assertion,  the  infatuated  lover 
believed  he  spoke  the  simple  truth. 

Carried  away  by  the  violence  of  the  passion  he  had 
so  suddenly  conceived,  Walter  Thorne  believed  it 
would  be  easy  to  overcome  impossibilities  ; to  make 
the  way  clear  before  him  in  spite  of  all  the  obstacles 
that  lay  in  his  path.  To  win  Claire,  he  thought  he 
would  brave  and  triumph  over  every  difficulty. 

After  a pause,  Mrs.  Courtnay  gravely  said : 

“ This  is  a strange  interview  between  two  persons 
who  have  so  recently  met  as  you  and  I.  You  must  give 
me  time  to  reflect  on  what  you  have  said,  Mr.  Thorne, 
and  to  decide  as  to  what  will  be  best  for  the  happiness 
of  my  god-child.  Of  course,  I must  consider  her  first 
for  1 stand  almost  in  the  place  of  a mother  to  her.” 

“ That  is  just  enough,  Madam.  But  I hope  that  no 
restraint  will  be  placed  on  my  intercourse  with  the 
object  of  my  choice  ; and  that  I may  now  be  permitted 
to  remain  the  guest  of  M.  Lapierre.  When  my 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


99 


health  is  perfectly  restored,  I will,  wdth  pleasure,  spend 
a feAv  days  at  the  Grange  ; but  just  now  I think  I shall 
recover  more  rapidly  if  I am  not  removed  against  my 
will/’ 

I do  not  know  as  to  that.  The  question  of  your 
stay  must  be  settled  by  M.  Lapierre  ; for,  of  course,  I 
am  at  liberty  to  reveal  to  him  what  you  have  just  said 
to  me,  and  thus  pave  the  way  for  you  to  speak  to  him 
yourself.” 

‘‘  Use  your  owU'  discretion,  dear  Madam.  When  I 
place  before  the  old  gentleman  all  the  advantages  to 
be  secured  by  my  speedy  union  with  his  daughter,  I 
dare  to  flatter  myself  that  he  will  not  be  so  blind  to 
her  interests  as  to  refuse  to  give  her  to  me  as  my  wife, 
r shall  write  without  delay  to  my  native  town,  and 
have  forwarded  to  me  such  proofs  of  what  I have 
stated  of  my  position  and  prospects,  as  will  satisfy 
both  you  and  him  of  the  truth  of  my  assertions.” 

You  must  settle  that  with  M.  Lapierre  ; if  he  con- 
sents to  receive  your  proposal  favorably,  you  can  re- 
main here  till  you  are  stronger ; but  then  I shall  expect 
you  to  come  to  me ; remember  that.” 

Thorne  could  only  bow  his  acquiescence,  for  M.  La- 
[)ierre  came  in  again,  followed  by  Claire,  to  whom  Julia 
was  fondly  clinging.  She  held  up  a bouquet,  and 
said  : 

Mamma,  see  what  beautiful  flowers  Claire*  has 
gathered  for  me.  Shan’t  she  go  home  with  us  when 
we  take  the  strange  gentleman  away?  ’* 

But  he  is  not  going  with  us,  Julia.  He  saj^s  that 
iic  is  not  strong  enough  to  be  removed.’" 

As  Mrs.  Couitnay  spoke,  she  glanced  keenly  from 
father  to  daughter  to  see  the  effect  of  this  announce- 


100 


A CLANDESTINE  MAKRIAGE. 


ment.  A cloud  came  over  the  face  of  the  former,  but 
the  flash  of  joy  that  beamed  for  an  instant  on  the  face 
of  Claire  assured  her  that  already  had  this  stranger 
made  a deep  impression  on  her  young  heart.  As  she 
looked  again  at  him,  she  was  scarcely  surprised  at  this, 
for  he  was  singularly  handsome,  and  distinguished  in 
appearance,  and  he  had  already  avowed  himself  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  her.” 

Lapierre  approached  the  sofa  on  which  his  guest 
was  now  sitting  up,  and  quietly  said : 

I think  you  are  quite  well  enough,  Mr.  Thorne,  to 
risk  so  short  a drive  as  the  one  from  here  to  the 
Grange.  You  will  be  much  more  comfortable  there  ; 
and,  inhospitable  as  it  may  seem,  I must  say  that  it 
v/ill  be  best  for  you  to  accept  the  courteous  invitation 
of  Mrs.  Courtna}^” 

With  a faint  smile,  Thorne  replied  : 

“ I appreciate  Mrs.  Courtnay’s  kindness  very  highly, 
I assure  you  ; but  I find  myself  so  well  off  here  that  I 
prefer  not  to  change  my  quarters  just  yet.  1 promise 
to  encroach  upon  your  hospitality  as  short  a time  as 
possible,  M.  JLapierre ; and  as  soon  as  I have  regained 
sufficient  strength  to  walk  over  to  the  Grange,  I will 
relieve  you  of  my  presence.” 

Lapierre’s  face  brightened  at  this  assurance,  and  he 
more  cordially  said : 

So  long  as  you  need  the  shelter  of  my  roof,  and 
the  exercise  of  my  skill  in  your  behalf,  both  are  at 
your  service.” 

He  drew  nearer  to  him,  and,  in  a low  tone,  added  : 

‘‘  You  should  understand  why  I seem  to  violate  the 
rules  of  hospitality  in  your  case.  It  is  not  seemly  that 
you  should  be  left  to  the  care  of  a young  girl  like 
Claire,  while  I am  compelled  to  be  away.” 


A SUDDEN  TUR^iT  OP  AFFAIRS. 


101 


I comprehend  that,  Monsieur ; but  no  harm  shall 
come  to  your  daughter  through  that  association,  I 
pledge  you  my  honor.” 

The  speaker  frankly  extended  his  hand,  while  he 
looked  clearly  into  the  eyes  of  the  old  man,  and  victim- 
ized as  Lapierrc  had  already  been  by  placing  too  mud) 
confidence  in  others  he  obeyed  the  dictates  of  his  own 
honorable  mind,  a^ird  gave  implicit  trust  to  the  assurance 
he  had  received.  He  accepted  the  proffered  hand,  and 
then  turned  towards  Mrs.  Courtnay,  who  drew  him 
into  the  portico  to  speak  of  the  strange  declaration  his 
young  guest  had  made. 

Thorne  called  Julia  to  his^side,  and  was  soon  in  ani- 
mated conversation  with  her,  in  which  she  confiden- 
tially informed  him  that  Claire  was  her  cousin,  ever  so 
many  times  removed,  but  she  loved  her  as  dearly  as  if 
she  were  her  sister,  and  wished  she  could  always  have 
her  at  the  Grange  to  play  with  and  pet  her.  But  her 
mamma  had  promised  that  some  day  Claire  should  live 
there,  for  M.  Lapierre  often  talked  of  going  to  some 
distant  country,  and  then  her  pretty  cousin  would  come 
to  stay  with  her  mamma  and  herself  for  all  the  rest  of 
her  life.  Would  not  that  be  nice  ? 

The  listener  smiled  indulgently  on  her  prattle,  and 
said  : Very  nice  for  you,  little  lady,  but  not  so  pleas- 
ant for  somebody  else  I could  name  ; ” and  he  glanced 
toward  Claire  to  see  the  effect  of  his  words.  He  saw 
that  her  cheek  flushed  slightly,  but  she  would  not  look 
tov/ard  him,  and  with  widely  opened  eyes,  Julia  shrewd- 
ly asked  : 

Who  is  it  that  wants  to  take  my  Rosebud  away 
from  me  ? Is  it  you  ? But  you  can’t  have  her,  for  1 
want  her,  and  you  have  not  loved  as  long  as  I have,” 


102  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Claire  turned  rapidly  toward  the  talkative  child,  and 
exclaimed : What  are  you  saying  there,  enfant  terri^ 

hie!  Come  to  me,  Julia;  you  will  tire  Mr.  Thorne, 
and  annoy  him.” 

“ No  I shan’t,  as  long  as  I talk  about  you,”  retorted 
the  precocious  young  lady.  “ He  as  good  as  told  me 
he  wants  to  take  you  away  from  us  all.  Didn’t  you, 
now,  Mr.  Thorne?  ” 

Who  could  blame  me  for  my  presumption,  if  such 
were  the  fact,”  was  the  laughing  response  ; but  Claire, 
with  a displeased  look,  drew  the  little  girl  from  his 
side,  and  in  spite  of  his  pathetic  entreaties  not  to  be 
left  alone,  took  her  from  th^e  room. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Courtnay  and  Lapierre  had 
walked  out,  and  stood  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees, 
talking  earnestly  together.  The  face  of  the  father  was 
pale  and  disturbed,  as  he  said : 

That  was  a very  singular  confidence  to  pass  be- 
tween yourself  and  this  young  man,  in  the  first  hour 
of  your  meeting.  Madam.  I cannot  understand  how 
he  became  so  communicative  to  an  utter  stranger.  Nor 
am  I at  all  pleased  with  the  sudden  avowal  he  has 
made.” 

I did  not  suppose  you  would  be,  and  I was  as  much 
surprised  at  his  frankness  as  you  seem  to  be.  When 
he  saw  I had  determined  on  taking  him  away  with  me, 
he  came  at  once  to  the  point.  He  seems  very  much  in 
earnest,  and  I reallj"  think  he  has  fallen  desperately  in 
love  with  Claire.  Of  course  it  is  for  you  to  judge  of 
the  propriety  of  encouraging  his  passion.  I spoke  of 
Claire’s  extreme  youth,  but  he  set  that  objection  aside, 
declaring  that  it  is  his  most  earnest  desire  to  elevate 
her  at  onee  to  the  position  of  his  wife.  He  offered  to 


A SUDDEN  TUKN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


103 


satisfy  you  in  every  respect,  and  to  prove  to  you  that 
he  is  the  heir  to  immense  wealth ; but  he  will  speak 
with  you  himself  on  this  subject,  as  soon  as  you  afford 
him  the  opportunity.” 

M.  Lapierre  leaned  on  the  gate  as  if  to  sustain  him- 
self, and  his  slender  form  shook  with  the  emotions  that 
arose  within  him.  At  length,  in  a hoarse  voice,  he 
said : 

But  for  one  thing,  I would  send  him  from  my 
house,  and  never  permit  Claire  to  see  him  again  : but 
— but  the  time  draws  near  when  she  will  be  left  alone 
in  the  world.  Alone,  and  in  deep  sorrow,  poor  child  ! ” 

‘‘What  can  you  mean,  M.  Lapierre?  You  surely 
do  not  apprehend  any  evil  to  youself.  You  are  as 
strong  and  well  as  usual.” 

With  a look  of  inexpressible  weariness  and  sadness 
on  his  sallow  face,  the  old  Frenchman  regarded  her  a 
few  moments,  and  then  slowl}^  said  : 

“ A little  while,  and  the  earth  will  know  me  no 
longer.  For  four  generations  no  male  member  of  my 
family  has  lived  to  complete  his  sixtieth  year.  I am 
d]*awing  near  that  anniversary,  and  I have  already  had 
my  warning.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  looked  at  him  as  if  she  thought  his 
mind  wandering.  She  hurriedly  asked: 

“ What  delusion  is  this,  M.  Lapierre  ? I thought 
you  too  clear-headed  a man  to  put  faith  in  such  non- 
sense. You  are  strong  and  well,  and  you  should  not 
suffer  your  imagination  to  run  away  with  your  sober 
senses.” 

He  dreamily  shook  his  head. 

“ I have  not ; I remember  remonstrating  in  the  same 
way  with  my  father  when  he  told  me  of  his  summons, 


104  the  clandestine  marriage. 


but  when  it  came  the  third  time,  he  went,  and  so  shall 
I.  I would  evade  my  doom  if  I could — ^but  it  is  im 
possible.” 

In  Heaven’s  name  ! what  are  you  talking  of  ? ” 
exclaimed  his  companion,  growing  pale.  Explain 
the  nature  of  this  superstition,  for  it  can  be  nothing 
else.” 

“ Perhaps  it  is,  but  it  is  fatal,  for  all  that,  to  those 
of  my  race.  I have  twice  dreamed  that  my  father  ap- 
peared at  my  bedside,  holding  in  his  hands  a branch  of 
immortelles,  which  he  lightly  laid  upon  my  breast, 
saying  : ‘ Come  to  me  : when  I touch  you  with  this  the 
third  time,  you  will  have  everlasting  life.’  He  has 
appeared  to  me  twice  lately,  with  an  interval  of  a few 
weeks  between  his  visits ; the  third  one  will  be  fatal 
to  me.” 

The  tone  of  sad  conviction  in  the  speaker’s  voice 
made  Mrs.  Courtnay  shiver,  though  she  tried  to  con- 
ceal from  him  the  emotion  she  felt.  She  quietly  said  : 

Your  system  must  be  out  of  order,  or  you  would 
not  have  such  dreadful  visions.  ‘ Physician  heal  thy 
self,’  for  I am  sure  you  have  the  skill  to  do  it.” 

‘‘  Ah,  if  I had  the  power,  how  gladly  would  I exor- 
cise this  dreary  phantom,  but  I cannot.  I have  not 
told  you  that  for  generations  this  warning  has  been 
sent  to  us.  The  father  summons  his  son,  and  two 
months  are  allowed  him  in  which  to  set  his  house  in 
order,  then  the  curtain  falls  on  the  scene  of  struggle 
and  sorrow  through  which  mortals  are  doomed  to  pass. 
-But  for  my  daughter,  I should  be  willing  to  go  ; but 
her  helplessness,  her  dependence  on  others  when  I am 
taken  from  her,  are  constantly  before  me.  Perhaps, 
m his  infinite  mercj",  the  Bon  Dieu  has  opened  before 


A SUDDEN  TUKN  OF  AFFAIKS.  105 


jae  a way  to  provide  for  her,  and  console  her  for  my 
loss  by  sending  this  young  stranger  at  this  time.  He 
can  give  her  a home,  and  a future  worthy  of  her  l)eauly 
and  sweetness  ; but  she  is  too  young  to  become  his 
wife,  and  I fear  his  passion  is  far  too  sudden  to  prove 
lasting.  If  I listen  to  his  proposal  in  my  anxiety  to 
secure  her  worldly  welfare,  I may  but  give  her  over  to 
lasting  wretchedness.” 

‘‘If  siich  are  your  feelings,  then  send  Mr.  Thorne 
av/ay  as  soon  as  possible,  and  if  your  presentiments 
prove  true,  give  Claire  to  me.  I have  the  best  claim 
on  her,  and  I promise  to  do  the  part  of  a mother  l)y 
her.  But  I hope,  in  spite  of  your  dreary  fancies,  that 
you  ^ill  yet  live  many  years  to  smile  o^er  the  painful 
delusion  from  which  you  are  now  suffering.” 

“ Would  to  God  it  might  be  so,  but  I know  too  well 
that  I must  soon  leave  my  child.  But  I can  trust  her 
to  you,  dear  and  noble  friend,  to  whom  I already  owe 
so  much,  and  I have  no  words  to  thank  you  for  your 
generous  offer.  If  my  darling  cares  for  this  young 
man,  she  can  remain  with  you  till  he  can  honorably 
claim  her  with  the  consent  of  his  friends.  I could  not 
permit  her  to  enter  his  family  without  that,  and  I am 
not  quite  satisfied  with  Mr.  Thorne’s  precipitate  dec- 
laration. He  has  known  us  too  brief  a time  to  speak 
of  love  and  marriage:  yet  if  my  darling  can  be  happy 
with  him  I shall  not  suffer  my  objections  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  her  settlement  in  life.” 

Thus  wavering  between  his  desire  to  know  that  his 
daughter’s  future  was  provided  for  before  he  passed 
away  himself  and  his  fear  that  her  lover  was  scarcely 
trustworth}^,  Lapierre  talked  on  for  some  time  longer 
with  Mrs.  Courtnay.  It  was  finally  agreed  l)etwe8n 


106  the  clandestine  marriage. 

them  that  Thorne  was  to  be  permitted  to  speak  foi 
himself,  and  his  future  father-in-law  would  decide  as 
to  what  should  be  the  fate  of  his  wooing. 

Had  not  M.  Lapierre  believed  that  his  hold  on  life 
was  so  feeble,  he  would  never,  for  an  instant,  have  lis- 
tened to  the  proposal  of  this  stranger  to  woo  and  win 
Ill's  daughter  ; but  impressed  with  the  fatal  idea  that  a 
lew  more  weeks  must  be  the  limit  of  his  earthly  life,  he 
was  ready  to  grasp  at  an3^thing  that  promised^a  fairer 
future  for  the  object  of  his  most  tender  solicitude,  than 
dependence  even  on  so  kind  a friend  as  Mrs.  Court- 
iiay. 

They  at  length  returned  to  the  house,  M.  Lapierre 
looking  paler  than  usual,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay  very 
thoughtful,  for  his  earnestness  had  deepl}"  and  sadly 
impressed  her,  in  spite  of  her  incredulitj^  She  could 
detect  no  signs  of  decay  in  him ; he  looked  as  alert 
and  strong  as  at  an}^  time  during  the  previous  ten  years 
of  his  life,  yet  in  some  way  the  conviction  had  entered 
her  mind  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  and  that  his  days 
were  numbered. 

Claire,  followed  by  Julia,  returned,  bearing  in  her 
hand  a small  open  basket  lined  with  fresh  green  leaves, 
on  which  luscious-looking  peaches  were  placed.  These 
were  offered  with  a grace  that  was  all  her  own,  and 
while  they  peeled  and  ate  them,  the  conversation  be- 
came general  and  animated.  The  look  of  care  passed 
for  a season  from  the  old  man’s  face,  and  he  spoke  and 
laughed  as  gaily  as  the  others. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  at  length  arose  to  go,  and  she  smil- 
ingly said  to  Thorne  : 

waive  my  invitation  for  a few  days,  Mr.  ThornCv 
but  on  Thursday  I shall  expect  yon  to  dine  at  the 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


107 


Grange  with  M.  Lapierre  and  his  daughter.  By  that 
time  you  will  be  sufficiently  recovered  to  drive  over, 
and  I will  send  my  carriage  for  you.  In  the  meantime, 
I will  restore  your  portfolio  to  you  if  you  wish  it,  but 
I shall  be  glad  if  you  will  leave  it  in  my  possession  till 
you  can  reclaim  it  in  person.  I should  like  to  copy 
some  of  the  sketches  it  contains,  for  one  of  the  re- 
sources of  my  solitude  is  a fondness  for  drawing.” 

You  will  only  honor  me  too  highly,  Mrs.  Courtnay, 
by  using  any  thing  my  portfolio  contains.  If  you  will 
select  such  views  as  you  prefer,  I will  Avith  pleasure 
make  a duplicate  of  them  for  you  during  my  stay  in  the 
Happy  Valley.  The  only  use  I have  for  my  produc- 
tions is  to  give  them  to  my  friends,  and  I shall  be  but  too 
happy  if  you  Avill  permit  me  to  class  you  among  them.” 

‘‘  Many  thanks  ; with  such  a bribe  as  that,  of  course 
I will  consent,”  was  the  smiling  reply,  as  she  extended 
her  hand  in  farewell. 

Thorne  pressed  it  respectfully,  and  after  kissing 
Claire,  she  went  out  to  her  carriage,  attended  by  M. 
Lapierre.  It  was  a loAv-hung  pony-phaeton,  which  she 
usually  drove  herself,  with  the  attendance  of  a young 
negro  boy.  As  she  gathered  the  reins  in  her  hands, 
she  spoke  in  a low  tone  to  M.  Lapierre. 

Make  every  effort  to  rid  yourself  of  the  fantasy 
that  oppresses  you;  for  such  presentiments  often  bring 
about  their  own  fulfilment.  In  any  event,  remember 
that  Claire  will  be  safe  under  my  guardianship.” 

I am  quite  certain  of  that ; would  that  I could  do 
as  you  advise  ; but  I feel  that  the  decree  has  gone 
forth  and  I can  do  nothing  to  change  it.  Let  us  not 
refer  to  this  subject  again  ; but  remember  my  words  : 
the  twenty-fifth  of  August  Avill  rise  on  Claire  doubly 
orphaned.” 


108  the  clandestine  marriage. 


“ I wish  you  could  be  induced  to  think  otherwise, 
or  to  forget  to  number  the  days  as  they  pass.” 

It  would  make  no  difference ; the  result  would  be 
the  same,”  was  the  grave  response ; and  unwilling  to 
tell  him  what  she  thought  of  his  hallucination,  Mrs. 
Courtnay  gave  a sharp  cut  to  her  ponies,  and  rapidly 
drove  away. 

With  slow  steps,  Lapierre  returned  to  the  house  to 
find  his  daughter  standing  beside  the  sofa,  with  her 
hand  clasped  in  that  of  Thorne,  and  her  averted  face 
alternately  flushed  and  pale  with  emotion.  She  was 
saying  : 

‘‘  You  must  not  talk  to  me  in  this  strain,  Mr.  Thorne. 
My  father  would  be  seriously  displeased,  and  here  he 
comes  to  speak  for  himself.” 

To  the  surprise  of  Claire,  M.  Lapierre  only  smiled 
faintly,  and  sorrowfully,  as  he  said : 

“ Leave  me  alone  with  our  guest,  my  daughter  ; I 
have  something  to  say  to  him,  and  afterwards  I will 
speak  with  you.” 

Thorne  relinquished  the  hand  he  held,  and  Claire 
fled  from  the  room  like  a frightened  fawn.  She  sought 
the  seclusion  of  her  own  retreat,  where  she  threw  her- 
self into  one  of  the  large  chairs,  and  burst  into  a pas- 
sion of  tears. 

But  they  were  not  tears  of  sorrow  ; for  when  she 
wiped  them  away,  a smile  of  tender  triumph  wreathed 
her  rosy  lips,  as  she  murmured  : 

He  loves  me — he  loves  me  ! This  noble,  handsome 
hero  would  win  me  to  be  his,  though  I am  but  a sim- 
ple, untutored  child.  Oh,  jo}"  1 oh,  happiness  ! But 
what  will  my  father  say  to  him,  1 wonder.  Ah,  he 
cannot — he  will  not  refuse  to  listen  to  his  eloquent 
i>leadings. 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


109 


At  that  moment  M.  Lapierre  was  listening  with  ex- 
treme gravity  to  the  passionate  avowal  of  undying 
affection  for  her,  made  by  her  lover.  Since  Walter 
Thorne  had  so  precipitately  made  up  his  mind  to  make 
Claire  his  own  at  all  hazards  to  his  future  prospects, 
lie  determined  to  carry  things  with  a high  hand.  He 
persuaded  liimself  that  so  advantageous  an  offer  would 
not  be  lightly  declined  by  the  impoverished  old  French- 
man : and  if  he  insisted  on  an  immediate  marriage,  he 
could  himself  name  the  day  that  would  give  Clairejiito 
his  guardianship. 

M.  Lapierre  listened  in  utter  silence  till  he  had  fully 
expressed  his  wishes  and  intentions,  and  then  quietly 
said  : 

‘‘  My  daughter  is  very  dear  and  precious  to  me,  Mr 
Thorne  ; yet  I am  surprised  at  the  violent  passion  you 
express  for  her,  seeing  that  a week  ago  you  were  not 
aware  that  such  a being  was  in  existence.  Such  sud- 
den prepossessions  are  apt  to  resemble  the  torrent  that 
bore  you  into  our  valley.  If  you  will  look  from  the 
door  you  will  see  that  it  is  now  exhausted,  and  ripples 
in  a thread  of  silver  over  the  rocks  ; and  I greatly  fear 
that  such  may  be  the  history  of  your  sudden  penchant 
for  my  child.  Should  it  prove  so,  think  what  her  fate 
would  be  if  1 permitted  you  to  win  her  inexperienced 
heart.” 

Thorne  listened  to  him  impatiently. 

Have  you  so  completely  forgotten  your  own  youth 
M.  Lapierre,  that  you  can  make  no  allowance  for  the 
impetuosity  of  inine  ? I may  have  been  precipitate 
in  my  declaration,  but  I am  deeply  in  earnest.  I love 
Cdaire  with  a fervor  that  cannot  lessen  ; slie  is  my 
(irst  love,  for  I have  never  felt  the  slightest  preference 


no 


A CLANDESTIjSTE  marriage. 


for  any  other  woman.  Give  her  to  me,  and  I will 
make  her  happy — I swear  it  to  you.  I shall  inherit 
wealth.  I can  at  once  place  her  in  a better  position 
than  the  one  she  now  occupies,  and  she  shall  share  all 
I may  ever  possess.  I entreat  you  to  yield  to  my 
prayer,  and  let  me  claim  her  as  my  own  without  un- 
necessary delay.” 

The  sallow  face  of  the  father  flushed,  as  he  haughtily 
replied  : 

“ I cannot  surrender  my  daughter  to  a stranger  of 
whom  I know  nothing,  save  that  he  has  the  bearing 
and  education  of  a gentleman.  I must  know  some- 
thing of  your  past  life,  Mr.  Thorne,  before  I consent  to 
receive  you  as  her  suitor ; and  I must  have  the  abso- 
lute certainty  that  she  will  be  received  by  your  friends 
as  the  daughter  of  Armand  Lapierre  should  be,  even 
if  she  brings  no  fortune  to  her  husband.  Are  j^our 
parents  both  living,  and  if  so,  will  they  be  likely  to 
regard  with  approval  the  disinterested  marriage  you 
are  so  ready  to  contract.” 

‘‘My  mother  has  been  dead  many  years,  and  I am 
die  onlj^  child  of  my  father.  He  is  extremely  anxious 
for  me  to  marry  ; and  I am  certain  he  will  gladly  re- 
ceive Claire  as  his  daughter.  . I do  not  ask  you  to  give 
her  to  me  without  every  assurance  that  I have  spoken 
tlie  truth  to  you  concerning  myself.  I will  write  to 

L , in  Pennsylvania,  v/hich  is  my  native  town,  and 

olitain  from  there  such  vouchers  of  what  I have  stated 
as  must  satisfy  you.  A few  weeks  will  suffice  foi 
that,  and  then  you  will  give  me  my  bride.” 

The  father  shook  his  head. 

“Not  quite  so  soon  as  that,  my  young  friend,  foi 
t^aire  is  too  young  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of 


A SUDDEN  TURN  OP  AFFAIRS. 


Ill 


marriage.  If  my  scruples  are  set  at  rest,  I will  permit 
you  to  visit  my  daughter  in  the  character  of  a lover  : 
but  for  a j^ear,  at  least,  your  union  must  be  deferred. 
That  probation  will  test  the  strength  of  your  feelings, 
and  enable  her  to  understand  her  own.  Hasty  mar- 
riages are  often  bitterly  repented  ; and  it  is  my  wish 
to  save  both  you  and  her  from  such  a fate  as  that.  I 
think  this  is  conceding  enough  for  the  present,  and 
you  must  be  satisfied  with  this  arrangement.” 

In  vain  did  the  young  lover  endeavor  to  shake  this 
resolution ; he  found  Lapierre  immovable,  and  he  was 
at  length  compelled  to  yield  for  the  time  : but  he  trust- 
ed to  the  influence  he  would  establish  over  Claire,  to 
bring  about  the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes,  long 
before  a tithe  of  the  stipulated  year  had  expired. 

But  he  talked  so  fairly  to  the  father  that  he  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  treachery  that  lay  veiled  beneath  his 
words.  The  tie  between  himself  and  Claire  must  be 
irrevocable  before  his  father  could  interfere,  and  de- 
mand the  fulfillment  of  the  engagement  he  had  been 
mainly  instrumental  in  forming  for  him.  Once  safely 
married,  Thorne  believed  his  father’s  anger  would  be 
as  short-lived  as  it  was  violent ; and  so  far  as  the  for- 
saken girl,  whose  troth  he  had  won,  was  concerned,  he 
consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  Agnes  Willard 
was  cold  and  proud,  and  she  would  soon  reconcile  her- 
self to  the  faithlessness  of  the  man  who  had  never  been 
an  ardent  wooer  to  her.  She  had  fortune,  and  lovers 
in  abundance  would  flock  around  her,  when  it  was 
known  that  she  was  again  free  to  be  wooed  and  won  ; 
and  he  felt  sure  that  any  one  among  them  would  ren- 
der her  far  happier  than  he  could. 

Even  if  she  suffered  from  his  inconstancy,  Thorn 


112  THE  CLA^^DESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

( erermincd  to  cast  compunction  to  the  winds,  and  go 
steadily  fo^^ya^d  on  the  path  he  had  marked  out  for 
himself,  cost  what  it  would  to  himself  or  others. 

At  the  close  of  their  conversation,  M.  Lapierre 
said  : 

When  the  letters  arrive  confirming  your  statments 
to  me,  Mr.  Thorne,  I will  permit  a formal  betrothal  to 
take  place  between  yourself  and  Claire,  if  she  wishes 
it.  Such  is  the  custom  of  my  country,  and  it  is  one 
that  has  never  been  disregarded  in  my  family.  It 
seems  absurd  for  one,  in  my  humble  position,  to  speak 
thus,  perhaps,  but  until  my  day  the  name  I bear  was 
a time-honored  one.  We  were  a generation  of  bank- 
ers, known  in  Europe  before  the  Rothschilds  were  ever 
heard  of.  Our  house  has  had  transactions  with  many 
dynasties  of  kings  ; its  head  has  controlled  the  finances 
of  France,  and  made  war  or  peace  according  to  his 
willingness  to  unloose  his  purse-strings.  But  all  that 
grandeur  passed  away  with  the  elder  branch  of  the 
Bourbons.  Lapierre  & Son  sunk  with  the  revolution, 
to  rise  again,  however,  under  the  rule  of  Bonaparte,  to 
a faint  semblance  of  their  former  greatness  in  the 
financial  world. 

“ My  father  established  a bank  for  the  people,  and 
we  prospered  on  a smaller  scale  than  before.  When  I 
was  old  enough,  he  took  me  into  the  firm,  and  for  many 
years  all  went  well  with  us.  But  after  his  death,  mis- 
fortune came ; one  I trusted  proved  negligent,  another 
treacherous,  and — but  it  matters  not  how  it  happened 
— the  old  house  fell  to  rise  no  more  : utter  ruin  to  my- 
self was  the  result  of  our  disasters  ; but  no  taint  clung 
to  my  name,  and  the  creditors  permitted  me  to  go  upon 
my  way.  I chose  an  asylum  in  this  country,  and  here 


A SUDDEN  TUEN  OF  AFFAIRS. 


113 


1 found  tlie  mother  of  Claire.  The  Courtiiays  were 
distantly  lelated  to  her,  and  that  is  how  I came  to  set- 
tle in  this  obscure  valley,  contented  to  win  my  bread 
by  imparting  to  others  the  accomplishments  which 
were  bestowed  on  me  as  a passport  to  good  society.” 

“ Thank  you,  Monsieur,  for  telling  me  this,”  replied 
Thorne.  The  knowledge  of  it  will  smooth  my  way 
with  my  father,  for  he  will  be  pleased  to  know  that  1 
have  chosen  a wife  from  a good  family.  He  has  some 
prejudices  on  that  score,  1 confess.  I shall  be  free 
to  tell  him  what  you  have  just  imparted  to  me  ? ” 

Yes  ; make  such  use  of  it  as  you  may  think  fit.  I 
could  not  permit  my  child  to  enter  your  family  with- 
out the  assurance  that,  save  in  fortune,  she  is  quite 
equal  to  any  one  in  this  democratic  country.  I have 
fallen  from  a high  estate  through  no  fault  of  my  own, 
Mr.  Thorne,  and  I will  say  that  if  my  daughter  can, 
through  you,  be  restored  to  the  sphere  to  which  of 
right  she  belongs,  I shall  die  with  fewer  regrets  than  I 
lately  believed  possible.  You  seem  noble  and  gener- 
ous, and  I believe  you  will  endeavor  to  render  her 
happy.” 

The  lover  rapturously  exclaimed  : 

It  shall  be  the  business  of  my  life  to  do  so,  I will 
write  home  at  once,  M.  Lapierre,  and  in  a few  weeks 
at  farthest,  the  replies  to  my  letters  will  be  here.  They 
will  give  you  the  fullest  assurance  of  the  truth  of  what 
I have  told  you.” 

1 believe  you,”  replied  the  Frenchman  simply,  as 
he  offered  Thorne  his  hand.  I will  leave  you  now, 
and  seek  an  interview  with  my  daughter.” 


114  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER  V 


A BASE  DECEPTION. 


'^HORNE  sunk  back  on  the  sofa  in  an  embarrassed 


JL  reverie,  for  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  po- 
sition in  which  he  had  so  recklessly  placed  himself. 
He  yet  had  honor  enough  to  shrink  from  decemng  the 
honest  trusting  nature  he  had  to  deal  with  ; but  he  be- 
lieved so  much  was  at  stake  for  himself  that  he  crushed 
down  his  scruples ; and  when  old  Betty  came  in  bring- 
ing writing  materials,  he  suffered  her  to  place  them  be- 
fore him,  and  prepared  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  Lapierre 
in  his  own  way. 

The  woman  paused  at  the  door  as  she  retired  and 
said : 

Look  aheah,  Mr.  Thorne,  ef  you’re  gwine  to  marry 
my  Rosebud,  an’  make  her  a good  husbin’,  I dont  ’ject 
to  dis  ere  gallivantin’  an’  courtin’.  You’s  been  at  it, 
you  knows  you  has,  so  ’taint  no  use  to  try  to  look  in- 
nercent  like.  But  ef  you  aint  in  airnest,  I jiss  wish 
you’d  git  out  a dis  as  quick  as  you  kin,  for  I don’  want 
de  chile  to  be  pinin’  arter  you  when  you’se  gone 
away.” 

I hardly  flatter  myself  that  such  a result  would 
ensue,  Mrs.  Betty,  but  I pledge  you  my  word  that  the 
well-being  of  your  young  lady  shall  be  my  first  consid- 
eration. You  will  go  back  to  Pluto’s  dominions  witli 
a lighter  heart  after  that  assurance,  I hope.” 

‘‘Who  tole  you  my  old  man’s  name  was  Pluto? 
But  he  haint  no  ’minion  ober  me?,  I can  tell  you. 
’longs  to  my  missus.  Set  up  Pluto  wi’  sich  ’tliority  us 
dat,  indeed  ! I can  mind  white  folks’  orders,  but  no 


A BASE  DECEPTION. 


115 


nigger/ ef  he  is  my  husbin,  is  agwine  to  make  me  do 
what  he  wants.” 

So  you  set  the  marital  authority  of  Pluto  at  defi- 
ance— alas,  how  fallen  are  the  mighty  in  these  degen- 
erate days ! I hope  you  have  not  lectured  your  young 
lady  on  the  duty  of  wives,  eh ! Because  if  you  have, 
I begin  to  think  I had  better  ‘ get  out  o’  this,’  as  you 
so  elegantly  express  it.” 

His  jeering  tone  rendered  Betty  more  irate  than  be- 
fore, and  she  angrily  retorted : 

I ’gins  to  t’ink  ’twould  be  better  for  us  all  ef  you 
did,  young  man.  I knows  berry  well  dat  you’re  pokin’ 
fun  at  me,  tho’  you’s  young  enough  to  be  my  gran’- 
chile ; but  you’d  better  ’member  de  judgment  de 
blessed  Marster  sent  on  them  chillum  dat  mocked  his 
prophet.  I aint  nuffin  but  a poor  ig’rant  darkie,  but 
for  all  dat,  I knows  some  things  afore  dey  happens  ; 
and  suffin  tells  me  dat  ’twas  a dark  day  dat  brung  you 
to  dis  here  house  to  be  nussed  and  tended  as  ef  you 
was  de  salt  o’  de  yeth.” 

The  pale  face  of  the  listener  flushed  slightly,  but  he 
laughingly  said : 

There — that  will  do,  Mrs.  Betty.  You  have  let 
off  steam  enough  for  one  time.  I advise  you  to  get 
back  to  your  own  territory  without  any  further  explo- 
.sion.  Time  will  show  whether  my  advent  here  was 
for  good  or  evil.” 

'•‘Yes,  time  tvill  show.  I aint  no  fool,  ef  de  white 
folks  is,  an’  I can  see  dat  dere’s  nuffin  in  you  to  ’pend 
on.  You’re  like  the  shiftin’  san’s  o’  de  desert  what  I 
heard  my  Rosebud  read  about,  an’  ef  things  goes  on 
as  dey  has  bin  goin’  to-day,  you^ll  bring  her  to  grief 
yit ; I feels  it  in  my  bones.” 


IIG  the  clandestine  mahkiage. 

# 

Having  thus  relieved  her  mind,  Betty  closed  the 
door  suddenly,  and  Thorne  was  left  to  think  over  her 
words.  Rude  and  unexpected  as  the  old  woman’s  at- 
tack was,  he  forgave  it,  for  he  felt  conscience-stricken 
as  he  lay  back  with  half-closed  eyes  and  compressed 
lips,  half  wavering  in  the  underhand  course  he  knew 
he  must  take  if  he  pretended  to  satisfy  Lapierre  on 
the  points  most  vital  to  him  and  his  daughter. 

But  he  had  gone  too  far  to  recede  now,  and  he  final- 
ly silenced  such  scruples  as  the  words  of  Betty  had 
aroused,  by  such  specious  arguments  as  he  well  knew 
how  to  apply  to  his  own  conscience,  and  he  sat  up, 
seized  the  pen,  and  wrote  the  following  lines  to  one  of 
his  own  particular  chums,  who,  he  knew,  would  not 
dare  to  refuse  him  the  service  he  asked  at  his  hands  : 

Happy  Valley,  July  15,  18—. 

Dear  Wingate: — You  perceive  from  the  date  of 
this  that  I have  found  the  locality  of  which  the  grand- 
iloquent Dr.  Johnson  so  magnificently  discoursed  in 
Rasselas.  It  might  be  located  in  Abyssinia  too,  for 
I have  just  had  a vision  of  a black  gorgon  who  is  one 
of  its  inhabitants,  so  you  perceive  that  there  are  some 
disagreeables  to  be  found  even  in  this  divine  retreat.” 

It  is  so  long  since  you  heard  from  n>e  that  I must 
take  up  the  thread  of  my  adventures  where  I left  off  a 
iijonth  ago.  I was  then  engaged  in  sketching  mountain 
sceneiy  in  Virgina  ; and  in  pursuit  of  m}'  hobb3^  I 
set  out  on  foot  to  find  the  wild  valley  which  Vernon 
so  enthusiastically  described  to  us  after  his  return  from 
liis  pedestrian  tour  last  year. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  better  for  me  if  I had  beeu 
Liiisfied  with  his  imperfect  outline  of  the  locality,  but 


A BASE  DECEPTION. 


117 


there  is  a fate  in  these  things,  I suppose,  and  mine  led 
me,  or  rather  swept  me,  nolens  volens^  into  the  Happy 
Valley. 

^‘You  shall  hear  how  it  happened,  and  what  has 
since  occurred.  I was  caught  by  a violent  storm  in 
the  rocky  gorge  Tom  described  so  graphically  ; the 
rain  came  down  like  Niagara,  flooded  the  narrow  pass, 
and  but  for  my  great  strength,  I must  have  been  borne 
to  destruction.  How  I escaped  going  over  the  fall  at 
the  outlet  seems  a miracle  to  me,  but  a boulder  hap- 
pened to  stand  in  the  way  which  gave  me  a chance  to 
save  myself. 

‘‘I  managed  to  throw  my  bruised  and  exhausted 
body  on  a narrow  tongue  of  land  on  which  some 
bushes  grew,  and  to  these  I clung  with  desperation  till 
I succeeded  in  extricating  myself  from  the  most  im- 
minent danger.  ' ^ 

“ When  I recovered  from  the  first  shock,  I gathered 
myself  up  and  looked  around.  A rushing  torrent  was 
beside  me  which  falls  into  a dark  and  sullen  looking 
pool  that  I shudder  when  I think  of,  for  it  has  no 
known  outlet  and  never  jdelds  up  what  it  has  once 
devoured. 

Beyond  that  lay  the  valley,  a gem  of  beauty  which 
no  Avords  of  mine  can  portray.  I was  glad  to  find  that 
it  was  not  Avithout  inhabitants,  for  lying  below  me,  a 
fcAA  hundred  yards  distant  from  the  fall,  I saw  a half 
ruined  mansion  Avhich  was  evidently  the  abode  of 
human  beings,  for  smoke  Avas  issuing  from  one  of  its 
chimneys. 

Night  Avas  approaching,  so  I looked  for  some  means 
i>L  descent  from  my  uncomfortable  perch,  and  found  a 
;U)all  pathway  cut  in  the  face  of  the  rock.  I made 


118  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


my  way  down  as  well  as  I could  in  my  battered  coiidi 
tion,  and  went  towards  the  house. 

“ Now,  old  boy,  comes  the  gist  of  my  story.  I found 
in  that  old  ruin  the  loveliest  Egeria  that  ever  shone  on 
mortal  vision.  Ah  ! she  of  the  Homan  story  was  com- 
monplace beside  this  enchanting  maid  of  the  valley  ; 
and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I surrendered  to  the 
power  of  Don  Cupid.  Do  not  laugh  in  your  mocking 
fashion,  for  I swear  to  you  it  was  deep,  true,  ardent  love 
that  sprung  into  existence  with  the  first  glance  from 
her  glorious  eyes ; such  love  as  I shall  never  again  feel 
for  any  of  Eve’s  daughters ; and  I depend  on  3'OU,  old 
fellowG  to  help  me  to  win  her  for  my  very  own. 

Don’t  write  back  a homily  reminding  me  of  my  ob- 
ligations to  return  to  L at  a given  time,  and  thrust 

my  unlucky  head  into  the  matrimonial  noose  my  fatlier 
has  prepared  for  me.  I cannot,  and  1 will  not  do  it — 
understand  that  from  the  first,  for  my  resolution  is 
irrevocable. 

“ You  are  a great  admirer  oi  Agnes  Willard,  and 
you  have  my  permission  to  console  her  for  my  escapade, 
and  I really  think  she  will  soon  learn  to  like  3^11  as 
well  as  she  does  me.  The  elders  have  arranged  the 
match,  3"ou  know,  and  the  heart  of  the  fair  Agnes  is,  1 
l;elieve,  as  little  concerned  in  the  affair  as  1113^  own. 
Thus  far,  all  is  as  it  should  be,  and  I call  on  3'Ou  for 
assistance  because  I have  the  right  to  claim  it. 

I have  helped  3"ou  over  some  rough  places  in  our 
(Ia3"  ; and  3^011,  in  your  turn,  must  aid  me  in  my  pres- 
ent strait. 

My  Peri  is  the  01113^  child  of  a broken-down  French 
banker  who,  from  his  own  account,  was  once  a power 
m his  native  land  ; but  that  is  all  past  and  gone,  and 


A BASE  DECEPTION. 


119 


he  now  vegetates  in  this  valley  on  a small  saiar^  paid 
him  for  teaching  the  young  idea  liow  to  shoot.  He 
does  not  keep  a school,  though,  but  is  tutor  to  the 
daughter  of  a wealthy  widow  living  near  him.  Mrs. 
Courtnay  affords  him  this  employment,  being  connected 
with  him  by  his  marriage  to  a poor  cousin  belonging  to 
lier  husband’s  family. 

So  you  see  my  lady  love  has  good  blood  in  her 
\ (ins,  and  her  father  is  entitled  to  inquire  into  my  an- 
t-cedents. That  is  why  I write  to  you,  Bob,  and  3^ou 
prove  yourself  staunch  to  our  old  compact  to 
he  p each  other  out  of  every  difficulty. 

Lapierre  requires  me  to  produce  vouchers  of 
fie  truth  of  what  T have  told  him  of  myself,  and  he  is 
.iso  unreasonable  enough  to  insist  that  I shall  furnish 
j'Ositive  proof  that  my  father  will  gladly  welcome  his 
( iiughter  as  my  wife. 

‘ Phancy  m^^  phelinks’  when  he  demanded  such  an 
impossibility  as  that.  Just  think  of  my  obstinate  old 
governor,  with  his  furious  temper  and  unbridled  license 
of  tongue,  when  he  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums,  being 
asked  to  receive  as  his  daughter-indaw  an  obscure 
young  girl  without  a sous  to  her  fortune. 

‘‘  But  I took  the  thing  coolly.  I assured  the  credu- 
IcTis  old  fellow  that  all  should  be  made  right,  for  I am 
determined  that  nothing  shall  stand  in  the  way  of  my 
success  with  my  goddess.  I will  not  describe  her  to 
you  ; I will  leave  you  to  judge  her  when  you  see  her,  if 
ever  man  had  a fairer  excuse  for  acting  as  I mean  to 
do  to  secure  her. 

I shall  marry  her  as  soon  as  I can  gain  the  old 
Frenchman’s  consent,  and  that  I think,  will  not  be  long 
vvitliheld  after  the  arrival  of  the  letters  which  you 


120  the  clandestine  marriage. 

must  forward  to  me.  Now,  Wingate,  attend  to  every 
particular  of  what  I am  about  to  write,  and  do  not 
fail  to  obey  my  directions,  for  everything  depends  on 
you.  I have  been  a fast  friend  to  you  in  some  ugly 
scrapes,  and  in  return  you  must  stand  by  me  now. 

You  are  an  accomplished  penman,  1 know,  and  you 
can  write  most  moving  epistles  on  any  given  subject. 
I ask  you  to  exercise  both  talents  in  this  service,  and 
you  shall  lose  nothing  by  it.  Write  to  me  in  the  char- 
acter of  my  father^  giving  his  consent  to  my  marriage 
with  my  rustic  goddess  on  the  ground  of  his  anxiety 
to  see  me  settled  in  life.  You  know  how  to  do  the  thing 
up  brown,  to  use  your  own  slang  phrase,  and  be  sure 
to  do  it  in  your  most  creditable  manner. 

Also  send  me  other  letters  from  men  of  straw, 
vouching  for  my  former  steady  courses,  and  the  high 
position  held  by  my  family ; refer  to  my  own  assured 
prospect  of  eventually  inheriting  great  wealth — I say 
assured^  for  the  governor  will  come  round,  I am  cer- 
tain, after  his  first  wrath  is  expended,  and  forgive  my 
disobedience. 

‘‘You  should  feel  little  hesitation  in  writing  these 
letters,  for  there  will  be  sufficient  leaven  of  truth  in 
them  to  quiet  your  conscience,  and  I really  intend  to 
make  the  girl  my  wife.  I have  been  guilty  of  some 
wild  pranks,  but  no  young  lady  of  our  set  would  be 
likely  to  refuse  me  on  the  grounds  of  dissipation, 
though  I have  sometimes  kicked  over  the  traces.  I 
have  a devil  of  a temper,  I know,  but  my  angel  will 
never  arouse  that  against Tierself,  though  I could  not 
answer  for  myself  if  I were  forced  under  the  yoke 
matrimonial  with  the  fair  Agnes. 

When  my  father  insisted,  I consented  to  marrv 


A BASE  DECEPTION. 


121 


lier,  because  I wished  to  please  him,  and  I had  no  de- 
cided preference  for  any  other.  But  now  all  that  is 
changed.  I love  this  adorable  little  charmer  with  all 
the  strength  of  my  nature,  and  I must  claim  her  as  my 
own,  or  give  up  what  I hold  dearest  in  life. 

‘‘  Write  to  me  as  soon  as  this  reaches  you,  and  send 
me  what  I have  asked  for,  for  I wish  to  be  safely  mar- 
ried to  my  true  love  before  the  time  arrives  for  me  to 
surrender  myself  to  the  bondage  the  Governor  has 
prepared  for  me.  He  cannnot  ask  me  to  commit  big- 
amy ; and  after  his  first  fury  is  past,  he  will  come  to 
terms. 

I forgot  to  tell  you  that  I have  been  laid  up  from 
tlie  ducking  I got  the  day  of  the  storm,  and  these  good 
people  have  nursed  me  back  to  health.  The  father  is 
; omething  of  a doctor,  and  the  daughter  the  most  sym- 
pathetic, tender  little  nurse  that  a man  was  ever  bless- 
ed with. 

Good  bye,  old  fellow ; I depend  on  you,  and  I am 
yours,  according  to  the  fidelity  with  which  you  serve 
me. 

Walter  Thorne.” 

This  letter  came  to  the  hand  for  which  it  was  in- 
tended, on  a warm  summer  evening,  when  Mr.  Robnrt 
Wingate  had  kicked  off  his  shoes,  laid  aside  his  coat, 
and  Avas  lounging  at  his  ease  in  a dingy  little  room,  fill- 
ed with  dusty  book-cases  and  tables,  which  he  called 
liis  office. 


122  the  clandestine  makriage. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  FORGED  LETTERS. 

TTTINGATE  was  a clientless  lawyer,  living  on  a 
T T small  allowance  from  his  father,  and  hoping  for 
better  times  when  business  should  come.  The  pros- 
pect of  that  was  not  very  brilliant,  for  he  was  too  fond 
of  pleasure  to  find  others  willing  to  trust  him  with  the 
management  of  their  affairs. 

He  was  a good-looking,  indolent  Sybarite,  who  pre- 
ferred the  enjoyment  of  the  moment  to  any  prospective 
advancement,  and  he  had  often  thought  what  a good 
thing  for  himself  it  would  be  if  he  could  only  step  into 
fortune  through  a wealthy  marriage.  He  had  played 
the  agreeable  to  Agnes  Willard,  and  was  quite  taken 
aback  by  the  announcement  of  her  engagement  to  his 
bosom  friend,  Walter  Thorne. 

But  he  did  not  betray  his  chagrin  ; he  consoled  him- 
self with  the  proverb  that  as  good  fish  are  in  the  sea 
as  have  been  drawn  from  it,”  offered  his  congratula- 
tions and  turned  his  attentions  elsewhere.  He  proved 
himself  a philosopher,  but  then  he  was  not  actually  in 
love  with  the  reputed  heiress — he  was  only  making  up 
his  mind  to  take  the  final  plunge,  if  the  golden  idol 
gave  him  sufficient  encouragement  4;o  risk  a declara- 
tion. 

Miss  Willard  had  not  done  so  ; so  that  was  the  end 
of  it ; but  the  perusal  of  Thorne’s  letter  caused  him 
to  doubt  that  now.  Slighted  and  forsaken  by  her  be- 
trothed, the  fair  Agnes  might  turn  to  him  for  consola 
tion,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to  afford  it. 


THE  FORGED  LETTERS. 


123 


Wingate  re-read  the  letter  attentively  and,  remov- 
ing bis  meerschaum  from  his  lips,  gave  utterance  to  a 
loud  whistle. 

“ A pretty  kettle  of  fish,  I declare,”  he  muttered. 

I wonder  what  old  Square-toes  will  say  to  his  pre- 
cious son  when  he  finds  out  all,  and  all  about  his  doings. 
I would  not  be  in  Wat.’s  shoes  then  for  all  the  old  fel- 
low’s fortune.  He’ll  never  forgive  him — that’s  fiat. 
I know  him  better  than  Thorne  does,  and  I believe 
that  man  of  fire  and  marble  will  cut  him  off  with  a 
shilling.  He  never  gives  up  what  he  has  once  set  his 
heart  on,  yet  Walter  is  mad  enough  to  think  of 
thwarting  his  mil.  Yes,  he’s  stark,  staring  mad  ; but 
what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  show  him  that  ? He  is  as 
obstinate  as  the  old  man  and  almost  as  fiery,  too ; so 
what  can  I do  but  help  him  to  his  own  ruiu  ? It  will 
be  ruin,  I know  it,  if  he  persists  in  this  folly.” 

Wingate  disconsolately  took  up  the  letter,  and  read 
it  over  again. 

Bad,  bad  ! he’ll  ruin  his  head  in  this  noose  as  sure 
as  fate,  and  I dare  not  refuse  to  help  him,  after  all  he 
has  done  for  me.  I have  always  known  that  if  poor 
Wat.  fell  desperately  in  love,  he’d  risk  everything  to 
gain  the  object  of  his  passion.  He’s  a blessed  fool  to 
give  up  such  a girl  as  Aggy  Willard  for  the  obscure 
creature  he  has  taken  such  a shine  to ; but  it’s  an  ^ill 
wind  that  blows  nobody  good  ; ’ and,  by  helping  him, 
maybe  I can  help  myself.  The  heiress  smiled  sweetly 
enough  on  me  till  her  marriage  with  Wat.  was  settled. 
Now  he’s  out  of  my  way,  I may  have  a chance  to  step 
in  and  win.  I think  I shall  try  it  at  any  rate  ; but, 
good  Lord,  he  asks  me  to  forge  a letter  from  his  re- 
spected parent,  telling  all  sorts  of  fibs  ! And  he’s  as 


124  the  claj^destine  marriage. 


cool  about  it  as  an  iceberg.  That  fellow’s  cheek  is 
wonderful,  but  then  I owe  him  a great  deal — he’s 
stood  by  me  when  I needed  help,  and  he’s  as  liberal  as 
a prince  with  his  money. 

Well,  the  fact  is,  Walter  knows  I can’t  help  my- 
self ; I owe  him  a large  sum,  and  I am  bound  to  do 
whatever  he  asks  ; but  if  the  old  colonel  found  out  that 
I had  assumed  his  venerable  character  and  given  his 
blessing  on  a union  he  would  move  heaven  and  earth 
to  prevent,  I wonder  what  he  would  do  ? Blow  me 
sky-high — shoot  me  — or  drive  me  out  of  these  dig- 
gings— but  who’s  afraid  ? Not  this  child  by  any  man- 
ner of  means  ! I’ll  stick  to  the  man  that  stuck  to  me 
when  I wanted  somebody  to  back  me,  and  help  him 
through  the  mud,  right  or  wrong. 

‘‘  Old  Fuss-and-Fury  shall  never  find  out  that  I’ve 
gone,  and  done,  and  used  his  name  in  a way  that 
would  be  peculiarly  unpleasant  to  him.  Won’t  he  go 
into  Jerusalem  tantrums  when  he  finds  that  Walter 
has  thrown  up  the  good  cards  he  has  no  cleverly  ar- 
ranged in  his  game  of  life  ? Oh,  Lord  ! I’ll  have  my 
own  fun  out  of  him^  if  I don’t  win  anything  else  out 
of  this  flare-up. 

“But  that  poor  little  maid  of  the  valley  is  getting 
into  a confounded  mess,  if  she  only  knew  it.  As  to 
her  ever  being  received  as  mistress  of  Thornhill,  it  is 
out  of  the  question,  and  Walter  is  insane  to  think  of 
it.  He’ll  be  sent  adrift,  and  what  will  he  do  then  ? 
Tm'u  artist  and  paint  pictures  for  a living,  I suppose — 
for  that’s  all  he  can  do.  But  the  poor  fellow  will  find 
out  when  people  have  to  pay  for  his  daubs,  they  won’t 
think  them  so  sweetly  beautiful  as  his  lady  friends  ('.all 
them  now.” 


THE  FOKGED  LETTERS. 


125 


‘‘  I swear,  it’s  the  most  suicidal  thing  I ever  heard 
of — throwing  away  two  fortunes  for  the  sake  of  a 
pretty  face ! I’ll  tell  the  old  fellow  what  I think  of 
it ; and  then,  if  he  chooses  to  play  the  fool,  why,  I 
suppose  he  must.” 

’ Thus  communing  with  himself,  Wingate  spread  out 
his  paper  and  set  himself  to  work  to  compose  such  an 
epistle  as  he  supposed  a sensible  and  affectionate 
father  would  address  to  a son  whose  settlement  in  life 
was  his  most  ardent  desire.  The  following  lines  were 
the  result  of  his  efforts  : 

i(  L ^ July  21,  18 — . 

‘‘  My  Dear  Son: — Your  last  letter  has  reached  me; 
and  with  some  surprise,  but  more  gratification,  I read 
its  contents. 

I have  long  desired  to  see  you  happily  married,  as 
you  well  know  ; for  I think  the  ties  of  home  and  do- 
mestic pleasures  are  the  best  safeguards  for  a young 
and  gay  man  like  yourself.  I should  have  been  better 
pleased,  perhaps,  if  you  had  selected  for  your  wife  one 
of  the  many  loveiy  young  girls  in  our  own  circle  ; but 
to  the  fairest  among  them  I have  observed  that  you 
were  uniformly  indifferent. 

I began  to  fear  that  you  cared  little  for  matrimo- 
nial felicity,  and  I am  the  more  pleased  to  find  that  I 
am  mistaken.  The  young  lady  you  have  chosen  is  of 
good  family,  and  that  is  the  main  thing  to  be  consid- 
ered, for  you  will  have  money  enough  of  your  own  to 
enable  you  to  dispense  with  fortune  with  the  wife  you 
may  bring  to  reign  over  the  old  place. 

I am  so  much  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  claim- 
ing a daughter-in-law,  that  I insist  on  the  completion 
of  your  marriage  as  soon  as  possible.  My  health  ia 


126  the  clandestine  marriage. 


bad,  the  gout  being  worse  than  ever,  threatening  to 
put  an  end  to  me  before  very  long  ; so  bring  your  wife 
to  me  without  delay,  that  I may  bless  your  union  be- 
fore I go  hence  forever. 

You  must  excuse  mj  presence  at  your  wedding, 
for  I am  not  in  a condition  to  travel ; but  I advise  you 
to  have  it  over  as  speedily  and  quietly  as  possible, 
and  bring  hither  the  pretty  creature  you  describe,  to 
brighten  my  last  days. 

If  M.  Lapierre  is  a good  linguist,  I think  I could 
find  him  a situation  in  a banking-house  here  as  foreign 
correspondent,  with  a fair  salary.  His  name  is  well 
known  to  me  as  a leading  one  in  the  financial  annals  of 
his  native  land,  and  I shall  be  most  happy  to  serve 
him  in  any  way  that  lies  in  my  power.  Present  me  to 
him,  and  say  that  we  two  old  fogies  can  renew  our 
youth  in  contemplating  the  happiness  of  our  children. 

“ With  much  love  to  the  charming  creature  who  has 
inspired  you  with  the  desire  to  become  a benedict,  I 
am  your  affectionate  father, 

“Walter  Thorne.” 

Wingate  read  over  this  effusion,  laughed  madly, 
snapped  his  fingers,  and  was  guilty  of  many  other  ec- 
centric evidences  of  satisfaction  over  his  performance. 
He  exclaimed : 

“ Just  fancy  old  Touch-and-go  reading  this  with  his 
own  name  at  the  end  of  it.  Oh  my  I wouldn’t  it  be 
rich.  He’d  never  survive  it — never  ; and  I should  be 
sent  to  the  valley  of  humiliation  for  manslaughter. 
He’ll  never  see  it  though,  that’s  one  comfort,  and  now 
for  the  others.” 

Mr.  Wingate  settled  himself  again,  and  dashed  off 


THE  FOKGED  LETTERS. 


127 


three  other  letters,  all  written  in  a different  hand,  cer- 
tifying the  high  position  held  by  Walter  Thorne’s 
family,  and  the  fair  name  he  had  gained  in  the  commu- 
nity in  which  he  had  been  reared.  To  these  he  ap- 
pended such  names  as  occurred  to  him,  secure  that  the 
old  Frenchman  would  have  no  opportunity  of  knowing 
whether  they  were  true  or  false,  till  it  was  too  late  to 
act  on  that  knowledge. 

Having  completed  this  task,  he  then  addressed  his 
friend  : 

“ L , .July  21st,  18—. 

‘‘Dear  Walter  : — You  will  see  from  the  accompa- 
nying letters  that  I have  done  your  bidding,  though  to 
tell  you  the  honest  truth,  I think  yon  are  the  most 
verdant  specimen  of  young  America  extant  to  risk  so 
much  for  a pretty  face.  You  have  done  the  worst 
thing  for  yourself  that  could  have  happened  in  losing 
your  head  for  this  young  girl. 

“ I hope  that  you  will  yet  think  better  of  it  and 
burn  these  things  as  a sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  duty. 
I do,  indeed,  old  friend,  for  I am  afraid  you  are  get- 
ting into  an  awful  mess,  and  bringing  that  trusting 
little  chosen  one  into  a worse  one.  You  can  never 
stagger  through  life  with  such  a millstone  around  your 
neck  as  the  girl  must  prove  who  will  cost  you  a cool 
hundred  thousand.  It’s  a higji  price  to  pay  for  a 
caprice,  Thorne,  but  you’ll  have  to  foot  the  bill  as 
surely  as  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow  if  you  persist  in 
this  folly. 

“ Just  look  at  your  actual  position.  You  are  en- 
tirely dependent  upon  as  cantankerous  an  old  iron- 
sides as  ever  set  foot  upon  this  earth  of  ours ; bound 
to  marry  the  girl  he  has  selected  for  your  wife,  and 


128  the  clandestine  marriage. 


here  you  are  fljung  off  at  a tangent,  and  getting  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  one  your  respected  papa 
would  consider  utterly  ineligible  in  every  respect. 

Take  warning  in  time,  Wat.,  and  get  out  of  your 
Happy  Valley  on  the  best  terms  you  can.  You  will 
be  the  gainer  by  it,  and  so  will  the  charmer  you  have 
taken  such  a fancy  to,  for  between  your  father’s  fury, 
and  your  ruined  prospects  she  will  have  a thorny  path 
to  tread.  You  see  I speak  freely,  as  is  my  custom 
with  you,  and  I know  you  will  take  it  as  it  is  meant. 
If  you  persist  in  marrying  the  poor  child  you  will  be 
disinherited,  I know,  unless  the  old  man  should  go  off 
in  a spasm  of  anger  when  he  first  hears  of  yoiir  re- 
bellion. I scarcely  think  that  will  happen  for  he  is 
tough  in  body  as  he  is  willful  in  mind  ; so  you  may  as 
well  make  up  your  mind  to  make  your  own  living,  and 
that  of  the  wife  for  whom  you  are  ready  to  sacrifice 
so  much. 

View  the  case  in  all  its  aspects,  my  dear  boy,  and 
come  to  your  sober  senses.  I have  seen  the  fair 
Agnes  several  times  since  you  left,  and  I found  her  as 
quiet  as  usual.  ^ Still  water  runs  deep,’  says  the 
proverb,  and  my  conscience  ! what  a soundless  reser- 
voir must  that  attractive  young  lady  be.  She  is  still, 
and  fair,  and  cold  in  nianner,  but  there  is  such  a thing 
as  a volcano  with  snow  on  top.  That  is  what  she  is, 
and  I do  not  deny  that  I once  thought  I should  like 
to  try  and  thaw  that  prettj^  icicle.  But  I soon  found  it 
was  no  go,  the  ground  was  pre-occupied,  and  I had  no 
chance.  Thank  you  for  your  offer  to  give  me  another, 
but  1 am  afraid  I should  fare  no  better  than  I did  be- 
fore. Old  Willard  wouldn’t  look  at  such  a scapegrace 
as  I am  in  the  light  of  a possible  soa-in-law  ; but  if  I 


THE  FOKGED  LETTEKS. 


129 


thought  the  pretty  Agnes  would  fancy  me,  and  be  as 
brave  as  you  are  read}^  to  be,  I might  try  my  luck,  for 
she  has  a snug  little  fortune  of  her  own  left  her  by  her 
grandmother. 

“ Just  think  of  the  luck  of  some  people.  I don’t 
believe  I ever  had  a grandmother,  or  if  I had,  she 
spent  all  her  money  on  herself.  It  is  a disgusting  fact 
that  I am  as  poor  as  a church  mouse,  and  that  even  a 
few  thousands  would  be  a godsend  to  me  ; but  I had 
rather  not  have  a chance  to  win  them  with  their  fair 
incumbrance,  if  you  are  to  be  so  heavy  a loser  by  the 
transaction. 

“ Dear  Walter,  I entreat  you  to  cut  the  Happy  Val- 
ley and  all  its  attractions  ; if  you  don’t,  mind  my 
words,  bread  and  butter  will  be  scarce  with  you  on  the 
long  run. 

Yours,  pathetically,  Robert  Wingate.” 

Wingate  arose  from  the  table  after  sealing  and  ad- 
dressing the  package,  and  then  prepared  for  a select 
party  at  the  house  of  the  wealthy  banker,  Lawrence 
Willard.  He  had  not  made  up  his  mind  to  go  till  he 
received  Walter  Thorne’s  letter,  but  that  put  a new 
aspect  on  affairs,  and  he  thought  if  his  friend  gave  up 
the' heiress,  he  had  as  gC)od  a chance  with  her  as  an- 
other. She  had  been  friendly  with  him,  and  that  was 
something  in  his  favor,  for  Miss  Willard  was  rarely 
more  than  civil  to  those  who  offered  incense  at  her 
shrine. 

Wingate  sometimes  suspected  that  he  owed  her 
courtesy  to  the  intimacy  which  existed  between  him- 
self and  her  affianced  husband,  and  that  he  intended 
to  find  out  this  evening,  if  he  could  ; but,  with  a sigli, 
8 


130 


THE  C L A X D E S T I N E A R R I A G E. 


he  acknowledged  that  it  was  more  difficult  to  fathom 
Agnes  Willard  than  most  girls  of  her  age. 

Wingate,  with,  some  difficulty,  arranged  his  neck-tie 
to  his  satisfaction,  and  wi  h much  complacency  sur- 
veyed his  handsome  featuies  reflected  in  the  mirror. 
He  was  a gay,  good-hearted,  rollicking  creature,  with 
few  scruples  of  conscience,  as  the  letters  he  had  so 
lately  Avritten  proved ; but  he  meant  no  harm,  and  be- 
lieved the  whole  thing  a good  joke,  to  be  laughed  over 
hereafter  with  Walter  Thorne,  when  he  had  abjured 
his  present  foll3^  After  reading  his  letter,  he  thought 
his  friend  Avould  pause  in  his  mad  career,  gWe  himself 
time  to  recover  from  his  infatuation,  and  extricate 
himself  from  his  equivocal  position.  But  if  he  should 
not,  Wingate  thought  it  as  well  to  be  in  a position  to 
be  the  first  to  offer  consolation  to  the  deserted  fiancee, 
so  he  made  a most  elaborate  toilette,  and  set  out  for 
Willow  Glen,  as  the  place  of  the  banker  was  called. 

It  was  situated  in  a romantic  hollow,  a short  distance 

from  the  town  of  L ; and  the  Avhite  walls  of  the 

aristocratic  looking  mansion  arose  amid  a group  of  fine 
old  Avillow  trees.  Hedges,  grass  and  flowers  Avere 
found  there  in  profusion,  though  nothing  Avas  crowded, 
a]id  all  Avas  arranged  with  perfect  taste. 

On  an  eminence,  a few  hundred  Auirds  distant  stood 
a many-gabled  house,  with  twisted  chimneys  and  lofty 
lowers,  knoAvn  to  the  outside  Avorld  as  Thorne’s  Fol- 
\y^  but  called  by  its  proprietor  Thornhill.  It  Avas  an 
incongruous  pile  of  architecture,  whicli  had  cost  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  Avas  valued  accordingly  by 
its  owner.  Colonel  Thorne  had  designed  it  himself, 
and  if  a man’s  house  is  the  outgrowth  of  his  mind,  as 
somebody  said,  his  must  haA'e  been  a very  anomalous 
one. 


THE  FORGED  LETTERS. 


131 


The  towers  were  gothic  ; the  central  portion  built 
in  the  quaint  Tudor  style,  finished  with  Tonic  porticos 
in  front  and  rear.  Such  as  it  was,  however.  Colonel 
Thorne  considered  it  the  most  striking  and  remarkable 
building  on  the  continent.  Perhaps  it  was,  from  its 
very  incongruities. 

Next  to  his  son,  his  dwelling  was,  to  him,  the  most 
important  of  his  possessions,  and  both  he  considered 
absolutely  his  own,  to  do  with  as  he  pleased. 

Wingate  had  to  pass  the  gate,  opening  into  the  really 
beautiful  grounds  which  inclosed  this  singular  looking 
mansion,  and  leaning  over  it,  was  a tall,  slender  man, 
with  a high,  bold  forehead,  scantily  shaded  by  gray  hair 
at  the  temples.  He  had  taken  his  hat  off,  and  was 
slowly  fanning  himself  with  it,  and  the  stern,  haughty 
face  was  a fair  exponent  of  the  unbending  nature  of 
its  possessor.  He  had  the  erect  carriage  of  a military 
man,  for  he  had  served  in  the  last  war  with  England, 
and  won  his  present  title  at  the  battle  of  New  Or« 
leans. 

As  Wingate  approached  him,  he  nodded  curtly,  and 
said : Good  evening,  Robert.  Going  to  my  neigh- 

bor’s, I suppose  ? Agnes  is  to  have  a party,  I hear. 
They  sent  over  for  me,  in  fact,  but  I am  too  old  to  care 
for  such  nonsense.  I shan’t  go,  and  you  may  tell  her 
from  me  that  I think  she  would  do  as  well  to  put  off 
her  entertainments  till  my  son  comes  back  to  take 
part  in  them.  She’ll  be  thinking  of  some  of  you  chaps, 
when  she  ought  to  be  dreaming  only  of  him.” 

To  this  address,  Wingate  blandly  replied  : 

Excuse  me.  Colonel.  I should  prefer  having  you 
deliver  your  message  in  person.  I cannot  take  so  great 
a liberty  with  Miss  Willard,  and  she  is  not  a porson  to 
forgive  li^lffly^  I fanhy.” 


132  the  cl  AlSTDESTIJ^E  MARRIAGE. 

The  old  man  knit  his  gray  eyebrows,  beneath  which 
a fiery  pair  of  black  eyes  scintillated,  but  he  laughed 
mockingly ; 

‘‘  Ha  ! ha  ! That  is  all  you  know  about  her  ! What, 
Agnes  unforgiving  ! No,  indeed,  she  is  the  meekest, 
sweetest  little  white  dove  in  existence,  and  that’s  why 
I want  her  for  Wat.’s  wife.  I am  a fire  spirit,  and  he’s 
got  enough  of  me  in  him  to  play  the  deuce  when  things 
don’t  go  to  suit  him.  Agnes  Willard  is  the  very  girl  to 
bear  his  temper  quietly,  and  keep  things  smooth  in  the 
old  house.  She  won’t  mind  my  outbreaks,  for  she  is 
used  to  me  and  my  ways.  She  would  onlj  smile  if  you 
repeated  what  I told  you  just  now,  and  to-morrow 
she’d  come  over  here  and  excuse  herself,  in  her  pretty, 
coaxing  w^ay.  You  don’t  know  what  an  insinuating 
puss  she  can  be,  in  spite  of  her  cool,  quiet  manner  to 
mere  acquaintances.” 

I know  that  Miss  Willard  is  very  charming.  Col- 
onel, and  Wat.  is  a fortunate  fellow.  By  the  way, 
have  you  heard  from  him  lately  ? ” 

I had  a letter,  two  weeks  ago,  dated  from  some 
little  town  in  Virginia.  He  was  vagabondizing  among 
the  mountains  in  search  of  the  picturesque.  Devil 
take  his  nonsense  and  tomfoolery  about  art ! I’ve  no 
patience  with  it.  I wish  I had  never  permitted  him 
to  take  lessons  in  drawing — he  had  no  talent  that  way. 
No  gentleman  should  go  wandering  away  through  Ih,' 
country  as  he  does,  and  just  at  this  time  too,  when  ]j<; 
ought  to  be  here  to  look  after  the  treasure  he  has  won. 
I don’t  think  though  that  Agnes  would  ever  play  hiii] 
false.” 

Wingate  could  not  resist  saying  : 

But  suppose  the  tables  were  turned,  and  Walter 


THE  FORGED  LETTERS. 


133 


sliould  find  some  one  he  thinks  more  attractive  than 
Miss  Willard?” 

By  the  Eternal,  sir  I what  do  you  mean  to  insin- 
uate? ” cried  the  old  man,  in  a sudden  fury.  How 
dare  you  speak  of  such  a thing  as  possible  ? Have 
you  heard  from  Walter  ? I know  that  he  and  you  are 
on  confidential  terms ; has  he  been  writing  to  you  any 
such  treason  as  you  hint  at  ? ” 

“ Something  very  like  it,”  responded  Wingate,  dryly. 
‘‘  He  has  met  with  an  accident ; came  very  near  losing 
his  life,  and  he  has  been  ill  among  the  mountains.  He 
has  been  nursed  back  to  health  by  a charming  young 
creature,  who  seems  to  have  made  a deep  impression 
upon  him.  I have  just  written  to  him,  and  warned  him 
not  to  get  too  deep  in  the  mire,  but  a letter  from  you 
might  have  more  weight,  perhaps.” 

Col.  Thorne  grew  livid  with  rage  as  he  listened  to 
this  cold  statement,  and  he  clutched  wildly  at  his  cra- 
vat as  if  suffocating.  He  presently  gasped  : 

Is  this  true  ? How  did  he  come  to  write  to  you 
of  his  mishap,  and  not  to  me  ? Ill — was  he  ? He  had 
better  have  died  than  dream  of  what  you  hint  at. 

Come,  now,  you young  dog,  if  you  have  anything 

serious  to  tell  me,  speak  it  out  like  a man.” 

“I  am  not  used  to  be  sworn  at,  or  to  be  called 
names.  Colonel  Thorne,”  was  the  cool  reply.  ‘^And 
if  you  were  a younger  man,  I should  know  how  to  re- 
sent it.  Good  evening,  sir.  Walter’s  address  is  the 
same  town  from  which  his  last  letter  to  you  came. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  write  to  him  at  once  ; you  may 
bring  him  back  to  his  senses,  for  I think  he  has  lost 
them.” 

\yith  this  parting  assurance,  Wingate  walked  on, 


134  A CL  AXDESTIIS^E  MARRIAGE. 

heedless  of  the  calls  to  return,  mingled  with  curses^ 
that  only  caused  him  to  laugh,  as  he  muttered  : 

‘‘  I hare  done  him  a good  turn  anyhow,  and  Walter, 
too,  I hope  ; for  old  Furioso  will  write  him  such  a 
scorcher  as  must  put  an  end  to  his  dallying  in  that 
garden  of  Armida.  He  will  see  the  folly  of  his  doings, 
burn  those  lying  letters,  and  come  back  wiser  than  he 
went.  I wish  I had  not  sent  them,  but  it  is  too  late 
to  repent  now.” 

When  Colonel  Thorne  saw  that  Wingate  would  not 
even  turn  his  head,  but  continued  to  move  steadily  for- 
ward, he  poured  forth  a more  bitter  volley  of  male- 
dictions, and  moved  like  a maniac  toward  his  house. 
He  entered  a lower  room  in  one  of  the  towers,  which 
was  fitted  up  as  a library.  A dog  lay  basking  near  the 
open  window,  happily  unconscious  of  the  evil  humor 
of  his  lUj^ster,  but  Ponto  was  soon  aroused  from  his 
dreams  by  a furious  kick,  which  sent  him  into  the  yard 
below ; a meerschaum  was  thrown  after  him,  and  then 
a chair  followed. 

After  these  performances,  the  irate  old  man  threw 
himself  on  a seat,  and  cursed  in  German,  French,  and 
English,  till  the  first  edge  of  his  wrath  was  taken  off. 
A servant  girl  peeped  in  at  the  open  door,  but  she  was 
very  careful  not  to  allow  her  employer  to  become  aware 
of  her  vicinity.  When  he  subsided  into  comparative 
tranquillit}’',  she  returned  to  the  houskeeper’s  room,  to 
report  that  the  master  was  in  one  of  his  worst  tan- 
trums, and  they  would  “ catch  it”  before  the  evening 
was  over. 

Colonel  Thorne  finally  jerked  out  the  drawer  of  his 
writing-table,  took  out  paper  and  pen,  and  wrote  the 
following  characteristic  letter ; 


THE  I J R G E D LETTERS. 


135 


L , July  21,  18—. 

‘‘  You  disobedient  good-for-nothing  dog  ! What  do 
you  mean  by  getting  yourself  laid  up  among  a parcel  of 
country  bumpkins,  to  be  nursed — one  of  them  of  the 
feihinine  gender,  too  ! I dare  say  she  has  made  eyes 
at  you,  and  has  done  her  best  to  make  you  play  the 
|)art  of  the  ingrate  and  the  fool ; but  it  will  not  be  well 
for  her  to  tempt  you  to  disobey  my  will. 

Your  precious  chum,  Robert  Wingate,  has  just 
hinted  to  me  that  such  is  the  state  of  the  case,  but  the 
wretch  refused  to  give  me  any  satisfaction  as  to  the 
facts  in  his  possession.  I have  only  this  to  say  : If  you 
don’t  come  as  soon  as  you  are  able,  I will  disown  j^ou. 
If  you  are  not  here  in  time  for  your  marriage  with  the 
bride  I choose  you  to  claim,  I will  make  my  will,  cut- 
ting you  off  from  all  interest  in  my  property.  I will, 
by  the  Eternal,  as  my  old  commander  used  to  say. 

You  know  me,  you  conceited  puppy,  and  you  also 
know  that  you  will  have  nothing  unless  I give  it  to 
you.  Your  mother  had  no  fortune ; what  I have  be- 
longs to  myself;  and  you  shall  never  enjoy  the  first 
cent  of  it  if  you  are  not  here  in  time  to  give  your  hand 
to  Agnes  Willard. 

“ The  wedding  finery  has  been  ordered,  and  some  of 
it  has  arrived  ; and  if  you  dare  to  think  of  flying  the 
track,  after  things  have  gone  so  far,  you  need  never 
appear  in  my  presence  again. 

‘‘  I shall  not  betray  you  to  Agnes;  the  girl  loves 
you,  and  she  will  never  give  you  up  to  another  ; nor 
will  I let  you  go  the  devil  your  own  way. 

“ I have  said  my  say,  and  I mean  every  word  of  it^ 
so  nov'  take  your  choice  between  beggary  and  obedi- 

W.  Thorne.” 


ence. 


1:^6  the  clandestine  mahkiage. 


This  fiery  missive  was  dispatched  by  the  same  mail 
that  took  Wingate’s  letters,  and  Walter  Thorne  had 
the  opportunity  of  comparing  the  words  of  the  real 
man  with  those  written  for  him  by  his  ingenious  and 
unscrupulous  friend — a comparison  by  no  means  ad- 
vantageous to  the  choleric  old  man. 


CHAPTER  VII 


REVELATION  OF  A GIRL  S HEART, 


INGATE  moved  leisurely  up  the  winding  ave- 


T T nue  which  led  to  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Willard’s 
residence.  The  house  was  gleaming  with  lights,  and 
the  parlors  redolent  of  flowers.  Vases  were  filled  with 
them  ; rustic  baskets,  which  overflowed  with  them, 
were  suspended  from  every  available  spot,  and  the 
summer  air  was  heavy  with  their  fragrance. 

AVingate  was  the  first  guest  to  arrive,  for  which  he 
was  not  sorry,  as  he  wished  to  gain  a few  moments 
alone  with  the  daughter  of  the  house  before  she  was 
absorbed  with  her  duties  as  hostess. 

Mr.  AVillard,  a slender,  gray-haired  man,  with  a cold, 
proud  face,  pallid  from  recent  illness,  was  sitting  on  the 
portico,  enjoying  the  still,  summer  night.  He  courte- 
ously received  the  young  man,  and  after  the  usual  dis- 
cussion of  the  state  of  the  weather  was  over,  he  said  : 

My  daughter  is  in  the  conservatory,  I believe, 
Robert.  She  told  me  if  you  came  early  to  send  you  in 
there  ; she  wishes  to  ask  you  when  you  last  lieard 
from But  never  mind — she  will  explain  herself;  ” 


REVELATION  OF  A GIRL’S  HEART.  137 

and  the  frown  that  gathered  on  the  brow  of  the  speak- 
er showed  that  he  was  annoyed  at  the  proposed  subject 
of  conversation. 

Thank  you,  sir ; I am  glad  to  have  the  opportunity 
to  speak  in  private  with  Miss  Agnes  a few  moments,” 
replied  the  young  man,  as  he  arose  and  entered  the 
house. 

He  walked  quietly  through  the  long  parlors,  illumi- 
nated by  a cut-glass  chandelier,  the  light  through  the 
ground-glass  lamp-shades  as  soft  as  that  of  the  sum- 
mer moon.  Beyond  lay  the  conservatory,  filled  with 
gorgeous  tropical  plants,  arranged  with  an  artistic  eye 
for  effect. 

A grape-vine,  in  full  foliage,  was  trained  over  the 
glass  roof,  from  which  rich  clusters  of  fruit  hung ; the 
flower  stands  descended  in  regular  gradation,  filled 
with  blooming  plants  of  rare  beauty,  and  in  perfect  or- 
der ; not  a dead  leaf  nor  a drooping  blossom  was  to  be 
seen. 

At  the  farthest  end  of  this  avenue  of  fragrance  and 
beauty,  was  a marble  basin  wreathed  with  water-lilies  ; 
and  from  the  white  cup  of  each  one  flowed  a tiny 
stream  of  clear  water,  which  kept  the  reservoir  always 
filled  to  the  brim.  Gold  and  silver  fish  darted  to  and 
fro,  their  bright  scales  glittering  in  the  softened  liglit 
of  innumerable  Chinese  lanterns  suspended  among  the 
foliage  of  the  plants. 

Near  this  fountain  stood  the  young  girl  of  whom 
Wingate  was  in  search ; and  as  he  looked  upon  her 
pale,  fair  beauty,  he  thought  she  was  a good  represen- 
tative of  Undine  in  the  floating  clonds  of  white  tarle- 
tan  that  fell,  like  spray,  around  her  graceful  figure. 

Agnes  Willard  was  colorless  as  a snow-drift,  witli 


138  the  clandestine  makriage. 


hair  of  a light  golden  shade,  bound  closely  around  her 
small  head,  and  wreathed  in  a shining  coil  at  the  back. 
A comb,  set  with  pearls,  held  it  in  place,  from  which 
drooped  a spray  of  delicate  white  flowers. 

Her  features  were  perfectly  regular,  and  to  most 
persons  her  face  was  expressionless,  for  she  was  usually 
as  impassive  as  a marble  woman.  But  those  who  had 
once  seen  her  eyes  light  up,  knew  that  beneath  that 
calm  exterior  lay  ar  world  of  passion  and  pride  ; the 
first  carefully  held  in  subjection — the  last  patent  enough 
to  all ; for  Miss  Willard  was  considered  the  haughtiest 
of  women.  She  had  few  friends,  no  intimates,  and 
moved  on  her  way  as  if  supremely  indifferent  to  the 
possession  of  either. 

Her  eyes  were  large  and  well  set,  of  a clear,  amber 
gray,  veiled  by  long  lashes,  a shade  darker  than  her 
hair.  Ordinarily  they  were  only  observant ; but  they 
could  flash  with  animation  when  their  owner  was 
aroused  from  her  apathetic  calm,  or  scintillate  with 
anger  if  the  repressed  passion  of  her  nature  was 
brought  into  action. 

This  girl  was  a riddle  to  most  of  those  who  knew 
her,  for  she  was  always  on  her  guard ; never  impul- 
sive— ^rarely  confiding.  The  polished  grace  of  her 
manner  was  perfect ; her  self-control  never  deserted 
her  in  public,  though  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own 
apartment,  she  sometimes  gave  way  to  paroxysms  of 
wild  passion  that  would  have  alarmed  a looker-on  had 
one  been  permitted  to  witness  them. 

This  day  had  witnessed  such  an  outburst ; but  now 
she  was  calm  enough,  and  at  the  sound  of  aj)proaching 
footsteps  she  raised  her  head,  and  with  a faint  smile 
of  welcome,  lield  on(  lier  slender  hand  to  Wingate. 


REVELATION  OF  A GIRL’S  HEART.  139 

He  took  it  an  instant  in  his  own,  and  was  thrilled 
by  its  icy  touch  on  that  warm  evening.  After  a few 
commonplace  Avords  had  been  exchanged  between 
them,  she  said : 

“ I am  glad  you  came  early,  Mr.  Wingate,  for  I 
Jiave  an  enquiry  to  make  of  you.  Can  you  tell  me 
an3^thing  of  }mur  friend,  Walter  Thorne?  It  may 
seem  strange  that  I should  apply  to  you  for  ,mforma- 
tion  concerning  my  betrothed,  but — but  I have  not 
heard  from  him  lately  myself,  and  I am  becoming  un- 
eas}^  about  him.  His  letters  must  have  miscarried,  for 
it  is  now  three  wrecks  since  I have  received  one.  Do 
you  know  where  he  is  at  present  ? ” 

With  perfect  freedom  from  embarrassment  Wingate 
replied : 

I am  glad  that  I have  secured  an  opportunity  to 
speak  with  you  before  the  arrival  of  your  other  guests. 
I had  a letter  from  Thorne  this  afternoon,  filled  with 
nonsense  ; but  he  has  been  ill.  He  came  near  being 
drowned  in  a mountain  torrent,  took  a violent  cold, 
and  has  been  detained  in  a farm-house  among  the 
Avild  scenes  he  is  so  fond  of  sketching.  He  has  had  a 
fever,  and  really  I think  he  was  slightly  delirous  Avhen 
he  wrote ; of  course  he  could  not  venture  to  address 
^ you  Avhile  his  mind  was  in  that  unsound  state,  and 
that  is  the  reason  Avhy  you  have  not  heard  from  him 
for  so  long.” 

'^'*111!  delirious,  and  probably  throAvn  among  a set  of 
ignorant  barbarians,  who  will  not  know  how  to  attend 
to  him  properly,”  she  rapidly  said,  in  a voice  that  for 
once  forgot  its  equable  calm  in  the  presence  of  another. 
“ Oh,  what  can  I do  to  help  him  ? What  can  be  done 
to  bring  him  back  safe  to  us  ? Have  you  told  his  fa- 
ther this,  Mr.  Wingate  ? ” 


140  the  CLAUDES  tine  MARRIAGE. 

TliP  speaker  seemed  transfigured.  Her  eyes  burned 
with  fiery  light;  a pale  flush  came  to  her  snowy 
cheeks,  and  her  lips  trembled  with  emotion.  The 
woman  came  out  of  the  frosty  atmosphere  of  conven- 
tionalism that  held  her  spell-bound,  and  in  that  mo- 
ment  Wingate  knew  the  truth.  She  had  not  been  in- 
duced by  her  father  to  accept  Walter  Thorne,  as  re- 
[)ort  said  ; but  she  herself  had  willed  the  contract  to 
he  made  which  bound  her  to  that  most  unstable  of 
men.  She  loved  him — that  was  plain  enough.'  Loved 
him  as  the  tigress  loves  her  young. 

From  that  moment  he  gave  up  all  hope  in  that  quar- 
ter for  himself,  and  began  to  think  how  he  could  best 
serve  his  inconstant  friend.  After  a pause  he  said  : 

Thorne  is  not  so  badly  off  as  you  imagine.  For- 
tunately for  him,  the  people  he  w^as  thrown  among  are 
of  the  better  sort.  The  father  had  some  medical  skill, 
wliich  was  used  for  his  benefit,  and  the  daughter  nursed 
Inm  back  to  health.  He  is  out  of  danger  now,  he  tells 
me  ; but  you  will  doubtless  hear  from  him  in  a short 
time  yourself.” 

Wingate  felt  that  those  amber-colored  eyes  were  fixed 
full  upon  Ills  face,  and  he  began  to  grow  nervous  be- 
neath their  scrutiny.  Miss  Willard  repeated  : 

Daughter — there  is  a woman  there,  then  ? Is  she 
young?  Did  Walter  say  much  of  her?  She  nursed 
him,  too  ; and — and — Mr.  Wingate,  you  are  his  friend, 
and  therefore  mine — let  me  see  that  letter.  I entreat 
it  as  a favor — nay,  I can  almost  demand  it  as  a right. 
Have  you  it  about  you  ? ” 

No — on  my  honor;  and,  indeed,  if  I had  it  I 
could  not  venture  to  show^  you  such  a rigmarole.  1 
told  Colonel  Thorne  of  Walter’s  illness,  and  no  doubt 


REVELATION  OF  A GIRL’S  HEART.  141 


he  will  take  measures  to  get  him  back  home  as  soon  as 
possible.  We  shall  soon  see  him  among  us,  and  the 
piettj  little  nurse  must  give  up  her  patient.” 

Pretty  I Did  he  tell  j^ou  that  ? ” And  her  voice 
vibrated  with  sudden  passion.  “ Could  Mr.  Thorne 
really  find  charms  in  an  ignorant,  unformed  country 
girl  ? But  I forget  myself.  She  was  kind  to  him,  and. 
of  course,  he  was  grateful.’' 

Warned  by  the  repressed  excitement  of  her  voice 
and  mannef,  Wingate  cautiously  replied  : 

Of  course  that  was  all.  When  his  father’s  letter 
reaches  him,  Walter  will  doubtless  come  home  as  soon 
as  possible.  By  that  time  his  mind  will  have  cleared 
itself  from  the  fantasies  of  illness,  and  he  will  return 
to  the  happy  fate  that  awaits  him.  He  is  the  most  for- 
tunate of  men,  if  he  only  knew  it.” 

Her  light  eyes  flashed  a sudden  look  of  angry  in- 
(piiry  upon  him,  and  she  defiantly  said  : 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? — if  he  only  knew  it. 
Does  he  not  know — does  he  not  understand  that ’’ 

She  paused,  shivered  before  the  revelation  of  her 
inner  self  she  was  on  the  eve  of  making,  and  relapsed 
into  her  usual  impassiveness.  After  a brief  silence, 
Agnes  again  spoke,  in  a light  tone,  in  which  there  was 
an  inflexion  of  hardness  : 

Let  us  return  to  the  reception  rooms,  Mr.  Wingate. 
I hear  voices,  and  other  guests  have  arrived.  I will 
write  to  Walter  again,  now  that  I know  he  has  not 
been  to  blame  for  his  long  silence.  We  must  have 
him  at  home,  where  he  can  be  properly  cared  for  till  he 
is  perfectly  recovered.'* 

She  passed  serenely  on  to  welcome  her  guests,  fol- 
lowed slowly  by  Wingate,  who  was  muttering  to  him- 
self ; 


142  the  clandestine  marriage. 


“ By  Jove  ! Wat.’s  getting  himself  into  a mess  sure 
enough ! That  girl  is  not  going  to  be  jilted  without 
making  an  awful  row  about  it,  proud  as  she  is.  Be- 
tween them,  she  and  Don  Furioso  will  crush  him  down 
to  the  depths  if  he  dares  to  carry  out  his  present  plans. 
The  boy  is  mad  to  think  of  flying  the  track  after 
things  have  gone  so  far.” 

Other  guests  were  in  the  lighted  rooms ; and,  with 
her  usual  moonlight  smile  and  chilling  grace.  Miss 
Willard  welcomed  them.  She  was  accustomed  to  play 
the  part  of  hostess,  for  her  mother  had  been  dead 
many  years,  and  she  was  undisputed  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  also  of  its  master,  for  Mr.  Willard  had  long 
since  discovered  that  it  was  useless  to  place  himself  in 
opposition  to  the  slightest  caprice  of  his  quiet  but  te- 
nacious daughter. 

What  she  willed  she  accomplished ; and  he,  who 
was  an  autocrat  in  his  bank,  was  at  home  a mere  pup 
pet  in  the  hands  of  this  fair,  haughty-looking  girl. 

The  banker  was  very  fond  of  her,  for  'she  was  his 
only  child ; but  he  would  have  been  glad  if  nature  had 
made  her  less  imperious  and  more  demonstrative  in 
her  affection  for  himself. 

Both  father  and  daughter  exerted  themselves  to 
make  the  evening  pass  off  agreeably  to  their  guests  ; 
and  Wingate  could  but  marvel  at  the  serene  grace  of 
Agnes,  after  the  glimpse  he  had  that  night  obtained 
into  her  heart.  He  came  to  the  wise  conclusion,  that 
Walter  Thorne  was  welcome  to  such  happiness  as  he 
was  likely  to  find  in  a union  with  her,  and  he  felt  few 
regrets  that  all  chance  for  himself  was  over.  He 
again  thought  over  the  judgment  of  her  he  had  ex- 
pressed in  his  letter  to  her  betrothed. 


RETELATION  OF  A GIRL’S  HEART.  148 

“ Quiet,  but  deep,”  he  muttered,  under  his  breath- 
‘‘Yes — I know  that  now,  better  than  I did  before- 
She’ll  lead  that  poor  fellow  a devil  of  a dance,  for 
she’ll  marry  him  whether  he  will  or  no.  His  father 
will  bring  him  back  to  his  allegiance,  by  threatening 
to  disinherit  him ; and  this  snow  woman  with  a vol- 
cano in  her  breast,  will  bind  him  to  her  in  chains  that 
will  hold  him  fast  enough.  Goodness  ! What  a fool 
I am!  Here  am  I pitying  Wat.  for  gaining  what  I 
so  lately  thought  I should  like  to  possess  myself.  Af- 
ter all  she  is  an  exquisite  creature.” 

The  party  broke  up  at  a late  hour.  There  was 
some  good  music,  charades  were  played,  and  alto- 
gether it  was  a success.  Wingate  took  home  a pretty, 
rosy  little  girl  who  had  just  made  her  debut  in  society, 
and  as  he  listened  to  her  prattle  he  thought  in  his 
heart  that  Anna  Ross  would  make  a far  more  comfort- 
able companion  for  every-day  life  than  the  high-bred, 
elegant  woman  he  had  been  so  critically  analyzing 
throughout  the  evening. 

When  the  last  guest  had  departed,  and  Miss  Willard 
and  her  father  were  left  standing  on  the  piazza  alone, 
she  turned  to  him  and  spoke  in  a low,  even  tone  : 

“Walter  has  been  ill — so  very  ill  that  his  life  must 
have  been  in  danger,  for  Mr.  Wingate  thinks  that  he 
was  delirious  when  he  last  wrote  to  him.  That  is  why 
I have  not  heard  from  him  of  late. 

“ Ah-h  I ” was  the  slow  reply.  “ But  is  it  not 
strange  that  Thorne  should  write  as  soon  as  he  is  able 
to  a friend,  and  not  to  his  betrothed  wife  ? I should 
not  like  it  if  I were  you,  Agnes.” 

“Perhaps  I do  not,  but  I cannot  help  myself.  You 
and  his  father  must  find  means  to  bring  him  back  with- 


144  the  clandestine  marriage. 


out  delay,  for  I think  he  is  in  great  danger  where  he 
now  is.” 

The  danger  must  be  pretty  well  passed,  if  he  is 
able  to  write  at  all.  What  do  you  apprehend  ? ” 

‘‘Everything  that  is  most  repulsive  to  me.  Walter 
is  weak  and  willful,  but  I love  him,  and  I do  not 
choose  to  leave  him  among  people  who  may  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  impressible  nature  to  carry  out  their 
Dwn  plans.  Robert  Wingate  spoke  of  a girl  who  has 
played  the  part  of  a nurse  to  him  : from  what  he  said, 
I think  it  necessary  to  rescue  my  betrothed  from  her 
arts  before  serious  mischief  arises  from  them.” 

The  father  regarded  her  with  surprise. 

“ Are  you  so  doubtful  of  your  own  power  as  to  fear 
a rival  ? ” 

The  fire  came  to  her  eyes,  and  a faint  streak  of 
crimson  flashed  across  her  white  cheeks  as  she  re- 
plied : 

“ My  power  is  not  yet  firmly  established,  but  it 
shall  be.  I comprehend  well  enough  that  Walter  sub- 
mitted to  the  wishes  of  his  father  in  forming  an  en- 
gagement with  me.  Though  I understood  that  clearly, 
I was  not  dismayed,  for  I feel  sure  that  I can  win  him 
to  myself  forever,  if  no  other  woman  comes  between 
us.” 

“And  you^  with  all  your  pride,  are  willing  to  be 
accepted  on  such  humiliating  terms  ? ” exclaimed  Mr. 
Willard,  in  an  excited  manner.  “ I could  not  have  be- 
lieved this  of  you,  Agnes.” 

“Nor  could  I once  of  myself:  but  it  is  so — Hove 
him — does  not  that  tell  you  all  ? I shall  die,  or  go 
mad,  if  Walter  Thorne  proves  false  to  me.  Bring  him 
back  to  his  home  and  the  ties  that  bind  him  here,  for 


revelation  of  a GIRL'S  HEART.  145 

everything  for  me  is  at  stake.  I will  not  give  him  up 
— I swear  it ! If  an  angel  with  a flaming  sword  stood 
between  myself  and  my  betrothed,  I would  put  him 
aside  and  grasp  the  hand  that  belongs  of  right  to  me. 
Is  he  not  my  plighted  bridegroom  ? Have  I not  given 
him  my  troth,  and  with  it  my  heart,  my  soul,  my  life  ? 
Bring  him  back,  I say,  before  something  happens  that 
will  turn  my  nature  into  a volcano  of  raging  fire.  The 
very  thought  that  another  is  near  him,  ministering  to 
liis  wants  as  I alone  should,  is  riving  my  brain.  How 
I have  lived  through  this  evening  I do  not  know,  yet  I 
have  played  my  part  as  quietly  as  usual.  I will  go  to 
my  room  now,  but  you  must  act  for  me  to-morrow. 
Concert  measures  with  Col.  Thorne  for  bringing 
Walter  back,  for  he  must  return  as  speedily  as  possi- 
ble. There  is  danger  to  him  where  he  now  is.” 

Mr.  Willard  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  did  not 
always  understand  his  daughter,  but  he  Avas  rather 
anxious  than  otherwise  that  the  marriage  which  had 
been  arranged  for  her  should  not  be  broken  off  after 
things  had  gone  so  far.  He  calmly  replied : 

“ I will  see  what  can  be  done  ; but  if  you  intend  to 
be  jealous  of  every  woman  that  comes  near  Walter, 
you  are  making  a bad  preparation  for  happiness.” 

‘‘  When  Ave  are  once  married  I shall  not  be  jealous. 
He  Avill  then  be  mine,  and  I shall  know  how  to  Avin  his 
heart,  and  hold  it,  too.  Good  night.” 

She  abruptly  turned,  entered  the  house,  and  ran 
quickly  up  the  winding  stairs  that  led  to  her  own 
apartment.  A young  girl,  aa’Iio  acted  as  her  maid,  Avas 
sleeping  beside  one  of  the  open  windows.  Agnes 
sharply  called  to  her  to  assist  her  in  unrobing,  and  she 
started  up  Avith  a bewildered  scared  expression,  and 
Q 


146  the  clandestine  mahriage. 


hastened  to  obey.  After  a few  moments,  Miss  Wib 
lard  drew  on  her  dressing  robe  and  peremptorily  said  : 

‘‘  Wake  up  Nettie,  before  you  begin  to  undo  my 
hair  ; if  you  pull  it,  I shall  be  angry.  Arrange  it  for 
the  night,  and  then  go.  I shall  have  no  further  use 
for  you.” 

Nettie  opened  her  eyes  as  widely  as  possible,  but 
she  was  too  much  overcome  Avith  sleep  to  be  as  careful 
as  usual,  and  more  than  once  a sharp  reprimand  was 
given  her  by  her  mistress.  Finally  the  fair  Agnes 
took  her  long,  abundant  tresses  in  her  own  hands  and 
said: 

‘‘Go  to  bed  you  stupid ! If  you  tear  my  hair  in 
this  way  again,  I shall  send  you  back  to  your  mother, 
and  you  may  starve  with  the  rest  of  her  useless  brood.” 

To  this  angry  threat,  the  somnolent  maid  replied : 

“ You  won’t  do  that.  Miss  Agnes,  because  you  prom- 
ised my  mother  to  keep  me  ; and  you  can’t  find  any 
one  else  who  will  bear  your  humors  as  I do.  I don’t 
get  huffed  at  nothing,  you  say,  though  you  know  you 
is  aggravatin’  sometimes.” 

The  amber-colored  eyes  fiashed  out  a glance  of 
lightning,  and  then  their  owner  laughed  softly. 

“ I believe  you  are  right,  Nettie ; for  of  late  I have 
not  had  much  patience  with  any  one.  There — ^you 
may  go  now — I am  tired  ; but  I cannot  sleep — I wish 
to  think.” 

The  maid  was  only  too  happy  to  be  released,  and 
she  left  the  room,  carefully  closing  the  door  behind 
her. 

When  the  echo  of  her  steps  was  no  longer  audible, 
Agnes  threw  herself  upon  the  couch,  and  abandoned 
herself  to  such  a tempest  of  passion,  jealousy,  and  des- 


REVELATION  OF  A GIRL’S  HEART.  147 


pair^  as  would  have  temfied  those  who  knew  her  best. 
Tears  rained  from  her  e3^es,  her  placid  features  became 
convulsed  and  paler  than  ever,  while  her  small  hands 
clenched  till  the  nails  almost  buried  themselves  in  the 
pink  palms. 

*At  intervals,  words  broke  from  her  white  lips,  and 
the  sound. of  her  voice  was  so  broken  and  unnatural 
that  it  startled  even  herself. 

‘‘  How  dare  he  treat  me  thus.  It  was  bad  enough  to 
leave  me  in  the  first  days  of  our  engagement ; but  to 
find  interest  in  another — in  a pretty  nurse  ! Faugh  ! 
what  wretches  men  are ; I cared  for  none  of  them  till  I 
knew  him,  and  he  is  all  in  all  to  me.  He  shall  never 
escape  me.  If  his  heart  has  wandered,  I will  not  know 
it.  He  shall  fulfil  his  troth  to  me  if  I walk  through  fire 
to  the  end.  If  I cannot  make  him  happy,  I can  at  least 
repa)"  him  for  his  inconstancy.  The  world  shall  never 
say  that  I have  been  left  to  wear  the  Avillow-'-  oh, 
worse  than  that — worse  than  that,  for  my  heart  would 
consume  itself  in  jealous  rage,  and  in  my  madness  I 
should  do  something  terrible — terrible.^'" 

At  length,  exhausted  by  the  violence  of  the  par- 
oxysm through  which  she  had  passed,  Agnes  arose, 
tottered  to  her  dressing-table  and  took  from  one  of  the 
drawers  a small  vial,  containing  a strong  sedative, 
which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  using  in  such  a crisis  as 
this.  With  unsteady  hand,  she  poured  out  a larger  " 
portion  than  usual,  and,  after  drinking  it,  threw  her- 
self upon  her  bed,  where  she  soon  fell  into  a disturbed 
slumber. 


148  the  clandestine  maeriage. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE  lady’s  tarn. 

IN  the  meantime,  all  was  sunshine  in  the  Happj 
Valley.  Thorne  continued  to  recover  rapidly,  and 
on  the  appointed  day  the  carriage  came  to  convey  liiin 
to  the  ‘Grange,  accompanied  by  Lapierre  and  his 
daughter. 

Believing  the  assurances  of  his  guest,  that  all  would 
be  right,  the  old  Frenchman  placed  no  restraint  on  tlie 
association  of  the  young  people.  He  half  sighed 
when  he  thought  how  differently  things  were  man- 
aged in  his  own  country ; but  as  freedom  of  inter- 
course was  the  custom  in  the  land  of  his  adoption,  he 
gave  in  to  it,  and  consoled  himself  with  thinking  that 
all  was  for  the  best. 

The  future  of  his  lovely  child  seemed  brightening, 
and  his  fears  for  her  welfare  would  soon  be  set  at  rest 
by  bestowing  her  in  honorable  marriage  on  one  who 
seemed  hourly  more  infatuated  by  her  charm.s. 

The  day  was  bright,  with  a soft  breeze  rustling  the* 
foliage  of  the  trees  which  formed  a canopy  over  the 
narrow  country  road  that  led  to  the  Grange.  An  iron 
gate  admitted  them  into  the  grounds,  which  were  left 
almost  in  a state  of  nature.  Lofty  trees  cast  their 
umbrage  over  the  greenest  turf,  and  deer  lifted  their 
braiichiiig  antlers  as  the  sound  of  the  wheels  was 
heard  grating  on  the  graveled  road  that  led  through 
this  sylvan  solitude. 

At  length  the  house,'  a square,  gray  structure,  with 
a long  piazza  in  front,  came  in  sight.  It  was  a fine  old 


THE  LADY^S  TAKN. 


149 


place,  and  the  ont-houses  and  servants’  quarters  were 
all  built  in  the  most  substantial  manner.  A green  ter- 
race swept  down  from  the  piazza,  ornamented  with 
stone  urns,  in  which  flowering  plants  were  growing. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  was  standing  on  the  steps,  with  her 
little  girl  beside  her,  looking  so  calm  and  sensible  that 
Thorne  half  doubted  if  she  would  permit  his  love- 
making  to  her  god-daughter  to  go  on  without  a full 
and  clear  understanding  of  all  that  was  in  store  for 
Claire  in  the  new  sphere  in  which  he  proposed  to 
place  her.  The  doubt  only  spurred  him  on  to  the 
completion  of  his  own  plans.  The  sweet  madness 
that  filled  his  heart  had  gained  such  strength,  that,  by 
this  time,  he  thought  no  sacrifice  would  be  too  great  to 
enable  him  to  secure  the  enchanting  being  who  had 
only  too  plainly  shown  him  that  he  was  the  arbiter  of 
her  earthly  fate. 

Walter  Thorne  closed  his  eyes  to  all  that  might 
happen  afterwards,  never  dreaming  that  a time  might 
come,  and  at  no  distant  day  either,  in  which  he  Avould 
shrink  from  the  consequences  of  his  own  folly,  and 
leave  this  tender,  unprotected  girl  to  bear  the  heavy 
burden  he  was  so  recklessly  preparing  for  her. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  welcomed  her  guests  with  the  cordial 
ease  characteristic  of  a welirbred  woman.  She  led  the 
way  into  a spacious  drawing-room,  fitted  up  with 
dainty  taste,  and  decorated  with  pictures  painted  by 
herself.  These  had  not  great  merit  as  works  of  art, 
but  they  were  correct  both  in  drawing  and  coloring  ; 
and  the  artistic  eye  of  Thorne  was  soon  attracted  by 
them. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  laughed,  and  said  to  him  : 

1 warned  you  that  I am  a dabbler  in  your  art.  I 


150  the  clandestine  marriage. 


have  had  few  opportunities  to  see  fine  pictures  ; hut  I 
do  not  intend  to  vegetate  here  forever.  Andrew  will 
leave  college  this  fall,  and,  when  spring  opens,  I think 
I shall  set  out  with  him  on  a tour  to  Europe.  When  I 
can  study  the  great  masters,  I shall  doubtless  think  of 
my  poor  efforts  with  contempt ; but  such  as  they  are, 
they  have  afforded  me  occupation  and  amusement  in 
my  lonely  life.  They  have  helped  me  to  live  through 
many  dreary  years.” 

A shadow  flitted  over  her  expressive  face,  and 
Thorne  politely  replied : 

‘‘I  do  not  think  you  will  ever  find  cause  to  regard 
these  things  with  disgust,  for  they  possess  a merit  of 
their  own,  I assure  you,  Mrs.  Courtnay.  Some  of  the 
landscapes  have  a delicacy  and  beauty  of  handling  and 
coloring,  that  would  entitle  them  to  a place  on  the 
walls  of  an  academy.” 

‘‘I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  that ; but  I am  afraid 
that  you  are  only  seeking  to  flatter  me.  Here  is  youi 
portfolio,  and  I have  made  a copy  of  this  female  head 
I found  in  it.  The  face  is  a very  remarkable  one,  I 
think.  It  is  fair  and  delicate,  but  has  a latent  fire  and 
will  that  are  wonderful.  I fancy  the  orginal  might  be 
capable  of  playing  the  part  of  a Medea.  Is  it  a por- 
trait, Mr.  Thorne  ? ” 

With  a sudden  flush  of  vexation,  he  recognized  the 
picture  to  which  she  pointed  as  that  of  Agnes  Willard. 
The  original  was  a water-color  sketch,  elaborately  fin- 
ished, which  Thorne  had  completed  just  before  lie  set 
out  on  his  rambling  tour.  With  assumed  indifference 
he  took  it  up,  and,  criticall}^  surveying  it,  said  : 

‘‘You  must  be  a close  student  of  the  ‘human  face 
divine,’  Mrs.  Courtnay.  I have  known  the  original  of 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


151 


this  several  years ; but  the  traits  you  describe  never 
struck  me  before.  The  face  has  a great  deal  of  char- 
acter in  it,  in  spite  of  its  fair,  soft  beauty.  I merely 
painted  it  as  a type,  for  that  style  is  not  very  attractive 
to  me.  I like  a dark,  bright  face,  flashing  with  intelli- 
gence, and  brightening  with  smiles,”  and  almost  un- 
consciously he  glanced  towards  Claire,  who  stood  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  holding  Julia  by  the 
hand,  and  speaking  earnestly  with  her  father. 

Mrs.  Courtna}^  understood  the  look,  and  quietly 
said  : 

0 

‘‘  Yes,  I understand  that  such  is  your  present  fancy, 
but  you  have  had  others,  and  you  will  have  many  more 
yet  before  the  end  comes.  As  an  admirer  of  beauty 
in  all  its  forms,  you  doubtless  consider  yourself  entitled 
to  some  immunity ; but  you  must  reflect  on  conse- 
quences. Hearts  may  be  broken,  and  homes  made 
desolate  without  any  absolute  intention  of  wrong- 
doing on  your  part.  I hope  you  understand  me,  Mr. 
Thorne  ? ” 

I am  sorry  to  say  that  I do  not.  Madam.  Your 
words  are  an  enigma  to  me.” 

It  is  one  easily  solved,  then.  You  gave  me  leave 
to  examine  your  portfolio,  and  I found  there  something 
which  leads  me  to  think  that  you  are  not  so  free  to  fol- 
low your  own  fancies  as  you  induced  me  to  believe  the 
other  day.” 

AYhat  is  that,  pray  ? ” was  the  eager  inquiry  of  the 
young  man.  Mrs.  Courtnay  opened  the  portfolio,  and 
significantly  pointed  to  a crayon  sketch  representing  a 
girl  and  her  lover  standing,  with  clasped  hands,  beside 
an  altar,  on  which  a flame  was  rising,  clear  and  high. 
The  face  of  the  girl  was  dimly  outlined,  but  the  man 
was  evidently  designed  for  Thorne  himself. 


162  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Beneath  the  picture  was  written,  in  a delicate,  fem- 
inine hand,  Sije  te  pei'ds^  je  suis  perdue. 

He  set  his  teeth  an  instant,  and  then  laughingly  said: 

‘‘It  is  but  a fancy  sketch,  but  I can  fill  in  the  face 
now,  for  I have  found  my  ideal.  Do  you  observe  that 
this  outline  has  no  meaning  ? A few  touches  will  give 
it  life  and  expression.” 

He  took  up  a crayon,  and  with  rapid  and  accurate 
hand,  completed  the  head  into  a striking  likeness  of 
Claire. 

“ But  the  motto  written  by  a lady’s  hand,”  objected 
Mrs.  Courtnay,  as  she  watched  his  progress.  “ It  says 
a great  deal,  and  I am  afraid  it  was  not  put  there  with- 
out meaning.” 

“ No,  for  now  it  has  all  the  significance  I could  wish,” 
was  the  gay  response.  “ The  fair  friend  who  wrote 
those  words  only  anticipated  what  the  future  would 
bring.  She  expressed  my  feelings  exactly,  for  if  I 
lose  the  angel  of  my  life,  I shall  be  lost.” 

“ It  evidently  referred  to  the  writer  herself,”  and 
she  pointed  to  the  last  words. 

Thorne  calmly  bore  the  scrutiny  of  her  clear  eyes, 
and  carelessly  replied  : 

“ That  could  not  be,  for  I never  loved  the  person 
who  wi’ote  those  words.  I aver  it  on  the  word  of  an 
honorable  man.” 

“ After  such  an  assurance,  I cannot  doubt  your  word, 
Mr.  Thorne,”  was  the  grave  response.  “ You  doubt- 
less think  this  inquisition  uncalled  for  on  my  part ; but 
since  theTuture  of  Claire  is  concerned,  I feel  justified 
in  making  it.  You  have  triumphed  over  M.  Lapierre  s 
objections,  I find,  and  I am  afraid  made  yourself  only 
too  acceptable  to  his  daughter.  But  I also  am  entitled 


THE  LADY^S  TARN. 


153 


to  take  a deep  interest  in  her  fate  ; and  I entreat,  if 
there  is  a doubt  as  to  her  reception  in  your  family,  that 
you  will  relinquish  your  pursuit  of  her  before  her 
affections  are  irrevocably  fixed  on  you.  Save  yourself 
from  the  reproaches  of  your  friends  ; save  her  from 
the  humiliation  and  anguish  of  becoming  the  cause  of 
dissension  between  yourself  and  those  who  have  the 
best  claim  on  you.” 

With  an  impatient  movement,  the  lover  replied : 

‘‘There  is  but  one  person  in  existence  who  has, a 
claim  on  my  obedience.  My  father  is  the  only  relative 
I possess,  and  in  a few  more  days  I hope  to  prove  to 
you,  under  his  own  hand,  that  your  fears  are  ground- 
less. As  to  myself,  you  require  too  much  when  you 
ask  me  to  give  up  the  only  girl  who  has  ever  touched 
my  heart.  I adore  Claire,  and  I will  dedicate  my  life 
to  her  happiness.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  sighed : 

“ So  all  lovers  think  and  speak,  but  I have  known 
few^  husbands  who  cared  for  a wife’s  tears  after  the 
first  glamour  of  passion  subsided.  You  are  a very  im- 
pulsive man,  Mr.  Thorne,  and  under  the  influence  of 
your  feelings  you  may  commit  an  imprudence  that  you 
will  regret  throughout  all  your  future  life.  Claire  is  a 
very  attractive  and  charming  child,  but  she  is  little 
more  at  present.  She  has  no  fortune,  and  her  father  is 
a decayed  gentleman  honestly  laboring  for  his  own 
subsistence.  If  your  father  is  rich,  he  will  probably 
take  a different  view  of  this  affair,  and  refuse  his  con- 
sent to  your  marriage.  If  he  does,  all  must  end  be- 
tween you  at  once.” 

“ I have  duly  weighed  all  these  considerations,” 
was  the  prompt  reply,  “ and  I feel  assured  in  my  own 


154  the  clandestine  marriage. 

mind  that  I should  risk  little  in  making  Claire  my  wife 
at  once,  if  that  were  possible.  I shall  ha.ve  enough  for 
both,  and  you  need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness  as  to 
her  future.  I shall  protect  her  from  harm  and  place 
her  in  the  position  she  was  born  to  fill.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  smiled  faintly. 

‘‘  Claire  is  scarcely  fitted,  to  fill  any  position  yet. 
She  is  not  yet  fifteen,  though  she  looks  more  mature 
than  that.  Her  education  is  incomplete,  and  if  M. 
Lapierre  will  consent  I shall  take  her  to  France  with 
me,  and  place  her  in  a school  for  the  next  two  years.” 

Thorne  looked  aghast. 

Two  j^ears  to  be  spent  away  from  my  darling  ! 
Oh,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  that  is  asking  too  much  of  me. 
Persuade  M.  Lapierre  rather  to  give  her  to  me  at  once, 
and  she  can  have  masters  afterward.  But  she  is  suffi- 
ciently educated  for  me.  I love  her  with  all  my  heart 
just  as  she  is.” 

“ But  your  father  might  not  be  satisfied  with  your 
child-bride,  even  if  you  would  be.  When  I bring  her 
back  to  you  an  elegant  and  accomplished  woman,  you 
will  acknowledge  that  I am  right.” 

Perhaps  I might ; but  in  the  interim  I might  lose 
her  altogether.  No  one  can  tell  what  may  happen  in 
so  long  a space  of  time,  and  I ” 

What  he  might  have  said  further  was  prevented  by 
the  approach  of  M.  Lapierre  and  his  daughter  ; and,  a 
few  moments  afterwards,  Mrs.  Courtnay  left  the  room. 

Claire,  in  her  light  summer  muslin,  looked  as  fresh 
and  fair  as  the  flower  whose  name  was  so  often  given 
her,  and  she  flushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure  when 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  picture  of  herself  and  her  lover 
standing  with  clasped  hands  above  that  expressive 


THE  LADY^S  TARN. 


155 


motto.  With  her  soft  melodious  voice  she  murmured 
the  words  to  herself,  and  cast  a glance  at  Thorne  that 
expressed  all  he  could  have  asked. 

He  leaned  toward  her,  and  in  a tone  so  low  that  she 
alone  understood  his  words,  said  : 

Our  destiny  is  foreshadowed  there,  my  Rose  ; I 
drew  that  form  as  my  ideal  wife,  but  I left  the  head 
unfinished  until  to-day.  Now  it  is  complete,  and  so 
will  our  lives  be  when  we  stand  thus  before  the  altar 
on  which  we  shall  offer  the  incense  of  a pure  and 
heartfelt  affection.” 

He  had  not  before  spoken  so  plainly,  and  the  unso- 
phisticated young  creature  felt  as  if  she  was  suddenly 
lifted  to  the  pinnacle  of  supremest  happiness.  She  sat 
down,  and  shaded  her  face  with  her  hand  that  he  might 
not  see  how  deeply  she  was  moved ; but  she  said  noth- 
ing in  reply. 

M.  Lapierre  busied  himself  in  examining  the  con- 
tents of  the  portfolio,  and  he  did  not  observe  the  pic- 
ture Claire  still  held  in  her  hand.  After  a careless 
inspection  of  the  drawings,  he  curtly  said : 

‘‘  These  are  well  enough  in  their  way,  Mr.  Thorne, 
but  I scarcely  think  you  could  make  a living  out  of 
your  talent,  if  you  had  nothing  else  to  depend  on.” 

Thorne  smiled  faintly,  for  no  artist,  however  humble 
his  pretensions,  likes  to  be  so  summarily  set  down 
among  the  nobodies  of  the  craft  to  which  he  aspires  to 
belong.  He  said : 

Thej^  are  not  worth  much,  I suppose,  but  thej' 
possess  some  value  in  my  eyes.  At  all  events,  I shall 
ever  bless  the  hour  that  sent  me  wandering  in  search 
of  the  picturesque.” 

And  an  expressive  glance  at  Claire  gave  point  to  his 

words. 


156  the  CLAlSTDESTIlSrE  MAREIAGE. 

“ Umph ! that’s  as  may  be,”  said  M.  Lapierre, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  ‘‘  You  are  a very  romantic 
young  fellow,  but  the  day  may  come  in  which  you  will 
toss  all  this  rubbish  away  and  v/ish  you  had  never  used 
pencil  or  brush.  The  illusions  of  life  are  around  you 
now,  but  the}^  cannot  last — more’s  the  pity.” 

“ Oh,  papa,  how  can  you^all  these  beautiful  things 
rubbish  ? ” exclaimed  Claire,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 
They  are  only  studies,  you  know,  but  when  they 
come  to  be  finished  off  as  pictures  are  they  will  look 
very  different.  I am  sure  they  are  very  lovely  in  their 
unfinished  state.” 

‘‘  Perhaps  they  are  to  your  eyes  petite^  but  I have 
seen  the  old  masters  and  also  the  best  galleries  of 
modern  art  to  be  found  in  Europe.  Mr.  Thorne  has  a 
very  pretty  talent  with  which  to  amuse  his  leisure 
hours,  but  the  divine  gift  of  genius  is  not  his.  It  is 
of  no  consequence  either,  for  a young  man  of  fortune 
would  scarcely  give  up  his  time  to  the  severe  study 
and  labor  necessary  to  make  him  a great  artist.  I 
trust  our  young  friend  here  will  never  be  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  earning  a precarious  support  by  means  of 
his  pencil.” 

‘‘  Do  you  really  think,  sir,  that,  in  such  an  event,  I 
could  not  do  it  ? ” asked  Thorne,  in  a tone  of  pique, 
for  he  was  deeply  annoyed  at  the  old  man’s  frank  de- 
preciation of  his  efforts. 

“ I am  quite  sure  you  could  not,”  was  the  ready  re- 
sponse. “Friends  may  flatter  you,  as  they  doubtless 
have,  and  eagerly  possess  themselves  of  your  pictures 
as  souvenirs,  but  if  they  were  asked  for  an  equivalent 
for  them  in  hard  cash,  I scarcely  think  you  would  find 
it  pay,  as  you  Americans  say.’^ 


THE  LADY^S  TARN.  157 

With  a constrained  laugh,  the  mortified  artist  closed 
the  portfolio,  and  said  : 

Thank  you  for  you  criticisms,  M.  Lapierre  ; they 
may  be  useful  to  me  in  the  future,  and  at  all  events, 
they  have  taken  the  conceit  out  of  me  for  the  present. 
But  here  is  one  sketch  that  I hope  you  will  appreciate, 
as  it  foreshadows  what  I so  earnestly  wish  to  come  to 
pass  as  soon  as  possible.” 

The  face  of  M.  Lapierre  flushed  as  he  looked  at  the 
drawing.  He  slowly  said  : 

The  girl  has  the  face  of  my  daughter,  but  the  form 
is  not  hers.  This  was  drawn  from  a living  model,  and 
it  was  not  Claire.” 

‘‘  It  is  an  ideal  figure,  modelled  unconsciously,  per- 
haps, from  a very  graceful  friend  of  mine,  but  until  to- 
day it  was  incomplete.  I shall  round  the  figure  more 
symmetrically,  and  it  will  be  that  of  your  daughter,” 
replied  Thorne  as  indifferently  as  he  could.  I 
thought  this,  at  least,  would  elicit  your  approbation, 
but  you  seem  determined  to  throw  cold  water  on  my 
artistic  aspirations.” 

By  no  means.  I approve  them  as  an  agreeable 
means  of  passing  time ; I only  wish  to  impress  on  you 
that  painting  can  be  no  resource  to  you  in  the  future, 
if  you  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  forfeit  the  favor 
of  your  father.  If  you  have  imagined  that  you  can 
depend  on  your  talents  for  fame  and  fortune,  the 
sooner  you  rid  yourself  of  the  delusion  the  better  for 
yourself  and  othersJ^' 

“ Dear  papa,  what  a pitiless  judge  you  are  ! ” cried 
Claire,  casting  a deprecating  look  towards  her  lover. 

But  Thorne  only  laughed,  and  said  : 

‘‘  Your  father  is  quite  right.  Rose,  but  he  is  the  first 


158  the  clandestine  marriage. 

who  has  ever  had  the  courage  to  speak  so  plainly  to 
me.  A tour  in  Europe  may  open  my  eyes  still  further 
to  the  defects  in  my  style,  and  I think  I shall  make 
one  for  that  purpose.  The  study  of  the  old  masters 
may  enable  me  to  do  something  worthy  of  commenda- 
tion yet.” 

Yes ; that  is  all  you  need,  I am  sure,”  was  her 
eager  reply. 

But  the  old  connoisseur  cynically  said  : 

‘‘  I have  seen  mere  copyists  who  aspired  to  nothing 
higher  in  the  walks  of  art,  who  can  do  more  than  you 
will  ever  accomplish,  Mr.  Thorne.  I have  no  wish  to 
be  rude  or  to  discourage  you,  but  I earnestly  desire 
you  to  see  for  yourself  that  a struggle  for  the  means  of 
living  would  end  in  defeat  if  you  had  to  depend  on 
your  artistic  gifts  as  a means  of  winning  them.  You 
are  too  much  a man  of  the  world,  however,  to  risk 
poverty,  should  a choice  be  offered  you  between  that 
and  the  indulgence  of  your  own  vagrant  fancies.  My 
daughter  should  not  have  seen  this  to-day,  sir,  for  it  is 
an  infringement  of  the  compact  between  you  and  my- 
self.” 

He  drew  from  the  hand  of  Claire  the  sketch  which 
she  had  taken  up  again  when  her  father  laid  it  aside, 
and  the  smile  of  tender  bashfulness,  mingled  with  rap- 
ture with  which  she  gazed  upon  it,  was  exquisitely 
charming,  to  the  lover,  at  least ; he  forgave  even  her 
father’s  severe  criticisms  for  the  sake  of  that  blush 
and  smile. 

She  surrendered  it  with,  a little  sigh,  and  moved 
away  to  a distant  window,  through  which  she  gazed 
without  seeing  much  of  the  beautiful  scene  it  com- 
manded. 

Thorne  hurriedly  sidd  • 


THE  LADY^S  TARN. 


169 


‘‘  It  signifies  very  little,  M.  Lapierre,  whether  your 
daughter  understands  our  true  position  to-day  or  at 
the  end  of  another  week.  My  letters  must  soon  be 
here  now,  and  you  will  see  from  their  tenor  that  1 have 
not  imperilled  my  future  by  losing  my  heart  to  tne 
angel  of  the  valley.” 

Lapierre  frowned,  bit  his  lip,  and  impatiently  re- 
joined : 

A promise  should  be  held  sacred  by  a man  of  hon- 
or, Mr.  Thorne  ; I had  your  word  that  until  all  doubts 
were  set  at  rest  as  to  the  light  in  which  your  father 
will  view  the  disinterested  choice  you  have  made,  that 
3^011  would  refrain  from  betraying  your  sentiments  to 
m}"  child.  Since  you  have  failed  in  this,  how  can  I 
trust  you  Avith  what  is  so  vital  to  me,  the  future  wel- 
fare of  my  darling  ? ” 

Thorne  felt  the  justice  of  the  reproof,  but  he  coolly 
replied : 

You  can  and  will  trust  me,  M.  Lapierre,  because 
you  know  that  loving  Claire  as  I do,  I shall  cherish 
her  as  the  apple  of  my  eye.  If  you  will  recall  your 
own  5^outh,  you  will  understand  how  impossible  it  is 
for  me  to  control  every  expression  of  the  passion  that 
fills  my  heart,  when  near  the  object  that  has  inspired 
it.  I have  not  yet  asked  Rosine  to  become  my  wife, 
because  I promised  that  I would  not  do  so  before  the 
replies  to  m}^  letters  arrive  ; but  she  is  aware  that  1 
love  her  with  all  my  soul,  with  all  my  heart,  and  no 
one  shall  come  between  us  to  separate  us  now.” 

The  old  man  sighed,  and  faintly  smiled,  for  after  all, 
he  was  pleased  with  the  fire  of  the  3"oung  lover,  and 
oeiieved  him  to  be  perfectly  honest  in  his  intentions  ; 
perfectl}"  fearless  as  to  the  result  of  his  application  to 


160 


THE  CLAH^DESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


his  father  for  his  consent  to  the  unworldly  marriage  he 
was  so  eager  to  make. 

No  thought  of  treachery  wm  in  his  own  honest 
heart,  so  he  presently  said  : 

“ Since  you  are  so  confident  of  your  father’s  appro- 
bation, there  is  little  chance  that  any  one  will  come 
between  you.  Mrs.  Courtnay  will  scar.cely  object  to 
, so  advantageous  a settlement  for  her  god-child,  and 
she  is  the  only  one  to  be  consulted  beside  mj^self.  I 
shall  not  live  to  witness  the  happiness  I trust  you  will 
both  find  in  your  union  ; and  after  I am  gone  she  will 
control  the  actions  of  Claire.” 

‘‘  Thank  you,  sir — but  why  do  you  say  that  you  will 
not  live?  You  look  strong  and  well — ^good  for  many 
years  of  life  yet.” 

Yet  they  will  not  be  granted  to  me — ^let  that  suf- 
fice. I cannot  explain  myself  more  fully,  for  you 
would  be  skeptical  as  to  the  reality  of  the  presenti- 
ment that  foreshadows  my  fate.  But  if  I am  denied 
the  privilege  of  watching  over  my  child  here,  I will  do 
it  from  that  higher  sphere,  to  which  I must  soon  go, 
and  if  you  are  untrue  to  her,  if  you  use  your  power 
over  her  unkindly,  I will  torment  you  myself,  or  if 
that  is  not  permitted,  I will  inspire  some  earthly  influ- 
ence to  avenge  her  wrongs.  Remember  this,  for  I am 
deeply  in  earnest.” 

Thorne  stared  at  him  f >r  a moment,  and  then  laugh- 
ing lightly,  replied  : 

“ I scarcely  suspected  you  of  such  fantastic  notions, 
sir.  As  to  treating  Claire  badly,  that  is  an  impossibil- 
ity, you  know.” 

But  the  speaker  was,  at  heart,  not  ill-pleased  with 
the  suggestion  that  the  troublesome  father  might  be 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


161 


removed  by  some  sudden  stroke  of  fate,  and  Claire 
left  without  a protector  who  had  the  right  to  interfere 
in  Iier  affairs. 

Cost  what  it  would  to  himself  or  to  her,  Walter 
Thorne  had  determined  to  marry  her  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment,  and  if  Lapierre  were  only  out  of  the 
way  he  felt  assured  that  he  could  mould  the  fate  of 
the  loving,  trusting  child  to  suit  himself.  He  specu- 
lated vaguely  of  the  future  ; wondering  what  it  would 
bring  to  them  ; but  he  was  resolved  to  improve  the 
present,  without  permitting  any  inconvenient  scruples 
to  lie  in  his  way.  All  must  come  right,  and  if  it  did 
not — well,  then  it  would  be  time  enough  to  reflect  on 
the  best  means  of  extricating  himself  from  the  difficul- 
ties that  might  beset  his  path. 

Selfish  and  reckless,  he  ignored  the  ties  that  bound 
him  to  his  betrothed,  and  was  ready  to  rush  into  new 
ones,  which  he  might  find  himself  as  anxious  to  abjure 
in  tliL"  time  to  come.  Thorne  really  persuaded  himself 
that  his  father  would  not  long  refuse  his  forgiveness 
when  once  the  marriage  was  irrevocably  made,  but  if 
he  should  prove  obstinate,  the  young  man  never  asked 
himself  what  his  own  course  would  be. 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  return  of 
the  hostess,  who  invited  them  into  the  library  to  look 
over  some  splendidly-illustrated  books  which  Thorne 
was  anxious  to  see.  The  library  was  a pleasant  room, 
with  large  windows  looking  out  over  the  broken  coun- 
try that  lay  between  the  Grange  and  the  dilapidated 
house  inhabited  by  M.  Lapierre,  with  the  abrupt  cliffs 
vising  in  the  back-ground,  over  which  a tiny  thread  of 
water  now  flowed. 

The  windows  had  deep  recesses  in  front  of  them,  and 
10 


162 


THE  CLA.NDESTINE  MARKIAGE. 


Claire  sat  down  in  one  of  these,  and  looked  with  a 
thrill  of  terror  and  thankfulness  toward  the  distant 
spot  on  which  her  lover  had  encountered  such  perils, 
and,  as  she  thought,  so  heroically  battled  through 
them. 

The  books  had  little  interest  for  her,  for  she  had 
been  familiar  with  them  from  her  childhood,  and  in  her 
present  mood,  she  preferred  drea^jiing  her  own  sweet 
dream,  to  all  the  talk  on  art  going  on  so  near  her. 

She  seemed  to  have  suddenly  stepped  from  child- 
hood to  womanhood  ; and  young  as  she  was,  she  began 
to  realize  that  her  destiny  for  life  was  settled,  so  far  as 
her  own  feelings  were  concerned.  This  man,  who  two 
weeks  before  was  unknown  to  her,  had  appeared  in  his 
youth,  beauty  and  power,  and  made  himself  master  of 
her  fate,  almost  without  a struggle  on  her  part  to  es- 
cape the  net  he  was  spreading  around  her. 

She  felt  that  she  was  his  utterly  and  entirely ; that 
she  would  bow  to  his  behests,  as  the  veriest  slave,  and 
have  no  will  but  that  of  the  autocrat  she  had  so  blind- 
ly chosen.  Her  love  for  her  father,  which  had  hither- 
to filled  her  life,  was  henceforth  a secondary  feeling, 
tliough  she  reproached  herself  that  it  should  be  so. 
But  some  powerful  magnetic  attraction  seemed  to  draw 
her  to  her  fate,  and  in  her  blind  madness,  she  was 
ready  to  say, 

“ I know  not,  I ask  not  if  guilt’s  in  that  heart, 

I hut  know  that  I love  thee,  whatever  thou  art.” 

Claire  was  too  young  and  trusting  to  dream  of 
treachery — to  imagine  that  her  life  might  be  wrecked 
at  the  outset,  by  the  idol  she  had  set  up  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  as  something  superior*  al]  oth<ai 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


163 


creatures  of  mortal  mould.  All  the  fantasy  of  an- im- 
aginative mind  was  brought  into  play  to  gift  her  lover 
with"  every  noble  attribute  of  humanity,  and  even  a 
good  and  true  man  could  scarcely  have  filled  the'  ideal 
of  her  overwrought  fancy. 

How  far  below  it  this  one  must  fall  when  he  stood 
before  her  in  his  true  colors  ; treacherous,  false — seek- 
ing self-preservation  at  any  cost  to  her  ; leaving  her 
to  be  swept  down  by  the  tide  of  life,  to  be  bruised, 
perhaps  crushed,  by  the  obstacles  he  had  recklessly 
placed  in  her  path.  Ah ! if  the  curtain  could  have 
been  lifted,  and  that  sad  picture  portrayed,  how  shud 
deringly  would  she  have  recoiled  from  the  precipice 
over  which  she  was  hovering. 

Thorne  soon  came  to  her  and  sat  down  beside  her 
in  the  wide  window  seat,  leaving  Mrs.  Courtnay  and 
her  father  together.  Julia  was  playing  with  a favorite 
old  dog,  who  was  permitted  to  come  into  the  house, 
and  the  opportunity  of  a Ute-a-tete  was  afforded  them. 
The  Frenchman  looked  after  the  young  man,  and 
gravely  shaking  his  head,  said  : 

It  is  impossible  to  keep  them  apart,  and  he  is  ap- 
parently so  frank  and  true,  that  I scarcely  know  if  it 
would  be  well  for  me  to  attempt  doing  so.” 

We  have  both  done  the  best  we  could,”  replied 
Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  he  really  seems  so  much  in  earn- 
est that  I scarcely  know  what  to  say.  If  all  Mr. 
ITiorne  says  of  himself  is  true,  the  future  of  Claire 
seems  a fair  one  ; but  they  must  not  marry  immediate- 
ly. Should  your  sad  presentiment  be  realized,  I wil] 
t ake  Claire  under  my  own  charge,  and  remove  her  with 
me  to  Europe  in  the  spring,  for  it  is  my  fixed  intention 
ii)  go  thither  as  soon  as  my  son  graduates  and  can  ac- 
conyjaiiy  me,” 


164 


A CLANDESTINE  MAKRIAGE. 


The  face  of  M.  Lapierre  brightened,  and  he  eagerly 
replied : 

That  will  be  best.  Yes — when  I am  gone,  take 
her  to  France.  Keep  her  from  this  imperious  lover  till 
she  is  old  enough  to  understand  herself,  and  to  know 
if  he  is  the  one  best  suited  to  her  of  all  the  world. 
At  times  I have  a chilling  doubt  of  it.  Something 
seems  to  warn  me  that  it  will  not  be  well  with  my  dar- 
ling if  she  is  given  over  to  him  entirely.  But  I may 
wrong  him,  for  he  seems  good  and  noble,  and — and  he 
is  very  much  in  love  with  her.” 

Of  the  last  there  cannot  be  a doubt : sudden  pas- 
sions, however,  often  die  out  as  rapidly  as  they  are 
kindled,  and  I wish  to  test  the  strength  of  this.  Two 
years’  probation  will  suffice  for  that,  and  if  Mr.  Thorne 
should  prove  fickle,  Claire  is  too  young  to  be  perma- 
nently affected  by  it.  I promised  you  that  your  little 
girl  shall  be  as  carefully  looked  after  as  if  she  were 
my  own  daughter,  and  in  one  sense  she  is,  for  I have 
promised  before  God  to  be  a guide  and  protector  to 
her.” 

Thanks,  dear  and  true  friend,  for  your  thoughtful 
kindness.  It  lifts  from  my  heart  a heavy  weight. 
Claire  may  need  all  that  you  ean  do  for  her — oh  ! never 
desert  her  ! Be  her  faults  what  they  may,  say  that  you 
will  stand  by  her,  should  all  others  fail  her.  Tell  me 
that  you  will,  for  something  whispers  me  that  she  will 
need  you,  and  the  time  may  come  when  she  will  have 
no  other  one  to  look  to  in  her  desolation.  God  help 
me  ! but  I seem  to  see  a cloud  settling  around  my  dar- 
ling’s fate  that  I am  powerless  to  avert.  I shall  not 
live  to  see  it  close  upon  her  earthly  prospects,  but  you 
will  and  you  must  promise  me  to  stretch  forth  a saving 
hand  and  be  a good  providence  to  her.” 


THE  LADT^S  TARN. 


165 


He  was  so  deeply  agitated  that  Mrs.  Courtnay  re- 
garded him  with  compassionate  surprise.  She  gently 
said : 

‘‘If  you  can  really  foresee  events,  as  you  so  often 
declare,  you  must  be  a sad  prophet  of  evil,  M.  Lapi- 
erre.  I pledge  you  my  word  that  I will  do  all  that  is 
possible  to  render  the  life  of  my  god-child  prosperous 
and  happy.  If  misfortunes  overtake  her,  I will  not 
turn  my  back  upon  her,  even  if  she  should  be  herself 
to  blame.  I assure  you  that  in  me  she  possesses  a 
friend  who  will  never  forsake  her,  so  cast  your  fears  to 
the  wind,  my  dear  old  friend.” 

“ I will  do  so  from  this  moment ; my  heart  is  most 
grateful  for  this  assurance,  for  I can  rely  on  you.  Ah  ! 
if  I could  only  live  to  watch  over  her  myself,  but  that 
I know  is  impossible.  All  now  left  me  is,  to  make  my 
peace  with  Heaven  and  prepare  to  sever  myself  from 
the  only  creature  for  whom  I would  wish  to  live.” 

His  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  he  seemed  absorb 
ed  in  painful  emotion.  Mrs.  Courtnay  said  no  more, 
for  she  hoped  this  strange  hallucination  would  pass 
away,  for  M.  Lapierre  seemed  to  be  in  the  enjoyment 
of  perfect  health. 

She  took  up  a book  and  made  an  effort  to  interest 
herself  in  its  pages,  but  her  thoughts  wandered  far 
away  to  her  young  son,  a youth  of  brilliant  promise, 
who  she  was  aware,  had  loved  Claire  from  his  child- 
hood. The  mother  knew  that  it  would  be  a severe 
trial  to  Andrew  to  give  up  his  early  playmate  to  this 
stranger,  yet  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  was  not 
sorry  that  the  two  would  now  be  separated  without 
any  interference  on  her  own  part. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  was  not  a very  worldly  woman,  and 


1G6  the  clandestine  marriage. 

she  possessed  a tender  and  generous  heart ; but  she 
was  ambitious  for  her  boy,  and  she  knew  that  with  his 
advantages  of  person  and  fortune  he  could  select  a 
wife  far  better  suited  to  his.  position  in  life  than  the 
lovely  daughter  of  M.  Lapierre.  She  wished  Andrew 
to  become  a power  in  the  world,  and  she  believed  that 
he  possessed  the  capacity  and  energy  to  become  a lead- 
ing spirit  in  his  native  land,  if  he  were  left  free  to 
walk  on  the  path  she  had  marked  out  for  him.  She 
wished  him  to  spend  two  years  at  a foreign  university, 
after  graduating  at  William  and  Mary  College,  where 
he  now  was — travel  through  the  most  interesting  por- 
tions of  Europe,  and  then  return  to  Virginia  to  enter 
political  life. 

Such  was  the  future  Mrs.  Courtnay  had  sketched 
for  her  fiery  and  rather  unmanageable  son,  and  she  be- 
lieved an  early  marriage  would  interfere  with  it ; 
therefore  it  was  better  for  all  comcerned  that  Walter 
Thorne  should  have  come  to  the  valley  to  bear  Claire 
away  from  her  boy  lover.  She  had  offered  to  take  the 
young  girl  to  Europe  with  her,  but  she  intended  to 
place  her  in  a boarding-school  where  she  would  be  se- 
cluded from  society,  and  Andrew  would  go  to  Germa- 
ny, so  they  would  not  be  thrown  together  after  the 
voyage  was  over. 

While  Mrs.  Courtnaj^  thus  settled  her  plans  in  her 
own  mind,  the  two  who  sat  in  the  window  enjoyed  an 
uninterrupted  tete-d-tete.  A sudden  shyness  seemed 
to  have  fallen  on  Claire,  and  her  soft  eyes  fell  before 
the  ardent  glance  that  rested  on  her.  Thorne  kept  to 
the  letter  of  his  promise  to  her  father ; he  did  not  ut- 
ter words  of  love,  but  every  expression  of  his  mobile 
face,  every  intonation  of  his  flexible  voice,  spoke  it 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


167 


more  eloquently  than  oral  language,  and  the  fair 
ereature,  who  understood  and  responded  to  these 
demonstrations,  seemed  floating  on  a sea  of  bliss,  over 
which  the  sun  of  her  destiny  seemed  to  be  rising  in 
unclouded  splendor. 

For  some  moments  both  had  been  silent,  when 
Thorne  pointed  to  the  distant  cliffs  and  said : 

‘‘What  a magnificent  view  this  window  commands  ! 
I must  really  make  a sketch  of  it  before  I leave  the 
valley.  At  this  distance,  Glenrose — (the  fanciful 
name  he  had  himself  bestowed  on  the  ruined  home  of 
Lapierre) — ^looks  like  a pile  of  ivy-crowned  ruins. 
The  river,  spanned  by  the  rustic  bridge,  and  the  dark 
back-ground  made  by  the  cedar-crowned  cliffs,  with 
the  Lady’s  Tarn  below,  are  fine  accessories  to  the  pic- 
ture. By  the  way,  can  you  tell  me  why  that  name  has 
been  given  to  the  dark  pool  that  came  so  near  swal- 
lowing me  up  ? ” 

“ It  is  a sad  stoiy,”  replied  Claire,  “and  one  that  I 
am  not  sure  Mrs.  Courtnay  would  like  me  to  tell.” 

“ Why  not  ? — she  need  not  know  that  you  have 
spoken  of  it.  Pray,  be  good,  and  satisfy  my  curiosity, 
for  I wish  more  than  ever  to  learn  the  romance  con- 
nected with  the  spot.” 

Of  course  Claire  obeyed,  for  she  could  refuse  noth- 
ing to  the  man  who  had  made  himself  master  of  her 
heart  and  life.  In  a guarded  voice  she  began  : 

Mr.  Courtnay  had  an  only  sister,  who,  for  years, 
was  the  belle  of  the  county.  She  was  a very  haugh- 
ty and  beautiful  woman,  but  by  some  strange  fatal- 
ity she  became  deeply  attached  to  a young  man  her 
father  had  taken  into  his  family  as  secretary  to  him- 
self and  steward  of  his  large  estate.  Young  Ran- 


168  the  clandestine  marriage. 


dall  was  of  humble  parentage,  and  of  course  far  be- 
neath the  daughter  of  the  house,  but  he  availed,  liim^ 
self  of  the  encouragement  she  gave  him,  and  the  two 
were  secretly  betrothed. 

I dare  say  he  did  love  her  in  his  way,  but  what  he 
gave  was  no  fair  return  for  what  was  lavished  on  him, 
as  the  end  proved.  Old  Mr.  Courtnay  discovered  a 
plan  for  an  elopement  just  as  it  was  matured,  and 
there  was  a dreadful  scene,  as  you  may  imagine. 

He  locked  up  his  daughter  in  her  own  room,  and 
then,  in  place  of  reviling  and  driving  off  her  lover,  as 
most  fathers  would  have  done,  he  took  what  seemed 
to  him  a wiser  course.  He  understood  the  person  he 
had  to  deal  with,  and  he  offered  Randall  a handsome 
sum  if  he  would  leave  the  valley  forever  and  hold  no 
further  communication  with  his  daughter.” 

Did  the  craven  accept  such  terms?”  asked 
Thorne,  indignantly. 

“ Yes — when  finally  convinced  that  he  would  get  no 
fortune  with  Miss  Courtnay,  if  he  married  her,  he  ac- 
cepted the  father’s  terms.  He  was  too  poor  to  burden 
himself  with  a fine  lady  for  a wife,  with  nothing  to 
support  her  on ; that  was  his  excuse  for  deserting  her ; 
so  he  took  the  money  offered  him,  went  away,  and  was 
never  heard  from  again,  though  old  Mr.  Courtnay 
Avould  gladly  have  recalled  him  if  he  had  known 
where  he  was  to  be  found.” 

Why  was  that  ? • Did  the  young  lady  pine  away 
in  ‘ green  and  yellow  melancholy  ? ’ ” 

‘‘Worse  than  that — she  lost  her  reason,  and  finally 
became  so  dangerous  that  she  Avas  kept  in  close  con- 
finement in  the  east  wing  of  the  house.  The  family 
was  a very  gay  one,  and  the  house  in  those  days  was 


THE  LADY’S  TARH. 


ir/J 

always  filled  with  company.  Of  course  the  presence 
of  a lunatic,  who  was  often  violent,  was  a great  source 
of  trouble  and  inconvenience.  The  father  began  to 
think  it  would  be  necessary  to  send  her  to  an  asylum, 
but  just  at  that  time  my  parents  were  married,  and 
when  old  Mr.  Courtnay  heard  X)f  it,  he  wrote  and  of- 
fered them  the  house  we  now  live  in,  and  a sufficient 
sum  to  live  on  comfortably,  if  they  would  take  charge 
of  his  mad  daughter. 

‘^They  accepted  the  offer  and  came  to  Glenrose,  as 
you  call  it;  but  it  was  not  then  a ruin.  It  was  a nice, 
old-fashioned  house,  built  in  the  early  settlement  of 
the  country,  and  was  large  enough  to  afford  a suite  of 
rooms  for  Miss  Courtnay  at  some  distance  from  those 
occupied  by  my  parents.  Old  Betty,  who  now  lives 
with  us,  was  her  attendant,  and  she  has  told  me  of 
these  things,  for  they  happened  before  I was  born. 

“ For  a few  months  after  her  removal  the  poor 
young  lady  was  quieter  than  usual,  and  papa  used-  all 
his  skill  in  her  service.  He  began  to  hope  that  she 
would  gradually  recover;  and  she  was  at  length  per- 
mitted to  walk  about  the  place  without  a constant 
watch  being  kept  upon  her.  She  seemed  to  have  re- 
turned to  her  first  state  of  quiet  melancholy,  and  little 
apprehension  was  felt  of  another  outbreak  of  frenzy. 

‘‘  But  a paroxysm  came  on  her  one  evening  when 
my  father  was  absent  from  home.  She  set  fire  to  her 
bedclothes,  locked  the  door  of  her  room,  and  went  out 
in  the  gathering  twilight. 

“ My  mother  was  not  well,  and  she  was  lying  down 
asleep  when  Betty  rushed  into  her  room,  with  the  ap- 
palling intelligence  that  the  house  was  on  fire,  and  her 
young  mistress  had  fled,  she  could  not  tell  whither^ 


170  the  ChAJlDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

A storm  was  rising  and  a deluge  of  rain  began  to  pour 
down,  but  the  fire  gained  great  headway  before  it  fell, 
and  although  help  came  from  the  Grange  as  soon  as 
the  light  from  the  burning  building  attracted  notice 
there,  that  portion  of  the  house  which  had  been  occu- 
pied by  the  maniac  was  destroyed,  leaving  only  the 
thick  walls  standing.  With  great  effort  the  part  we 
live  in  was  saved.” 

And  Miss  Courtnay — what  became  of  her  ? ” 

Ah  ! that  was  the  saddest  part  of  all.  When  the 
fire  was  at  its  height,  and  the  whole  valley  lit  up  by  its 
glare,  wild  shrieks  from  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of 
the  stream  were  heard ; and  standing  on  the  large  boul- 
der of  rock  that  saved  you  from  going  over  the  preci- 
pice, was  seen  Annie  Courtnay,  with  her  hair  loosened 
and  streaming  around  her.  She  was  clapping  her  hands 
and  shouting  with  mad  glee  over  the  ruin  she  had 
wrought ; by  that  time  the  rain  had  swollen  the 
stremm  to  a mad  torrent,  and  she  must  have  gained  the 
rock  before  it  began  to  swell. 

How  to  reach  her  and  save  her  from  destruction 
was  discussed,  and  several  active  men  set  out  to  scale 
the  cliff,  and  if  possible  bring  her  back  safe.  She  saw 
them  coming — waited  till  they  had  gained  the  tongue 
of  land  on  which  the  pine  trees  grow,  and  then,  with  a 
mocking  cry  of  defiance,  threw  herself  over  the  preci- 
pice. In  another  instant  she  was  swallowed  up  by  the 
dark  waters  below ; and  never  from  that  day  has  any 
vestige  of  poor  Annie  Courtnay  been  found.  That  is 
why  I gave  the  pool  the  name  of  Lady’s  Tarn.” 

Thorne  listened  with  deep  interest  to  this  tragic 
story.  He  said : 

It  was  a sad  fate,  but  better  even  that,  than  to  live 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


171 


on  in  the  condition  to  which  Miss  Courtnay  was  re- 
duced. Oh,  yes ; death  by  any  means  is  preferable  to 
a broken  life  like  that.” 

‘‘  Perhaps  it  is,”  replied  Claire,  ‘‘  but  it  seems  to 
me  very  weak  to  sacrifice  both  life  and  reason  to  a 
false  and  worthless  man.  I do  not  think  that  I should 
have  done  so  in  her  place.” 

Thorne  regarded  her  with  an  amused  smile. 

What,  then,  would  you  have  done  in  her  place, 
pHite  ? ” 

I can  scarcely  tell ; but  I am  sure  I should  not 
have  broken  my  heart  as  she  did.  If  I could  gain  the 
power,  I believe  I Avould  try  to  break  the  heart  of 
him  who  deceived  me  with  false  promises,  as  her  lover 
did  ; for  it  was  base  and  treacherous  in  him  to  be 
bought  off  as  he  was  by  the  old  gentleman. 

So  it  was : but  then  you  see  the  poor  girl  could 
not  reach  him  ; he  was  out  of  her  power.  If  she  had 
been  permitted  to  marry  him  she  would  doubtless  have 
tormented  him  enough — for  when  a woman  makes  a 
misalliance,  she  is  veiy  apt  to  repent  of  it,  and  make 
her  home  anything  but  a pleasant  place  to  him  who 
shares  it  with  her.” 

And  how  is  it  with  men  ? ” asked  Claire,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

Oh  I that  is  very  different ; a woman  takes  her 
position  from  that  of  her  husband,  and  he,  if  the  su- 
perior, lifts  his  Avife  to  his  own  level ; in  the  other 
ease,  she  sinks  to  that  of  the  man  she  has  chosen  to 
inarvy.  I regret  having  asked  you  for  this  sad  story, 
for  it  has  cast  a shadow  over  your  bright  face.” 

I have  cause  to  feel  sad  when  I recall  it,  for  my 
mother  never  recovered  from  the  shock  she  received 


172  the  clandestine  markiage. 

that  night.  She  faded  away  and  died  a few  months 
afterAvard.  My  father  remained  in  the  valley,  as  the 
tutor  of  Mrs.  Courtnay’s  son,  and  since  Andreev  Avent 
aAvay,  he  has  instructed  Julia.  That  is  how  you  came 
to  find  us  still  occupying  the  wing  of  the  old  house 
that  was  not  burned.” 

This  explanation  Avas  scarcely  finished  AAdien  dinner 
Avas  announced,  and  they  went  into  the  dining-room, 
Avhere  an  abundant  and  elegant  repast  was  spread. 
Mrs.  Courtnay  did  the  honors  of  her  table  Avith  hospit- 
able grace,  and  her  new  guest  Avas  glad  to  find  himself 
in  a house  in  which  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  to 
Avliich  he  had  been  accustomed  Avere  to  be  found. 

Thorne  Avas  very  grateful  to  the  old  Frenchman,  and 
exceedingly  in  love  Avith  his  daughter,  but  his  fastidious 
tastes  led  him  to  recoil  from  the  extreme  simplicity  in 
which  they  lived,  yet  Avith  Avhich  they  seemed  perfectly 
contented.  If  Mrs.  Courtnay  rencAved  her  invitation  to 
remain  a few  days,  he  determined  to  accept  it,  as  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  rest  in  this  luxurious  nest,  and 
visit  Glenrose  while  Availing  the  arrival  of  his  letters. 

Left  alone  Avith  Claire  for  many  hours  of  the  day, 
he  Avould  find  it  difficult  to  refrain  from  uttering  Avhat 
Avas  in  his  heart,  and  the  sharp  reprimand  of  Lapierre 
had  proved  to  him  that  such  self-control  Avould  be  ex- 
pected of  him.  Here  he  could  talk  of  art  with  his 
hostess,  find  books  to  interest  him,  and  find  it  easier 
to  be  on  his  good  behavior  than  if  throAvn  hourly  Avith 
the  object  of  his  passion. 

So,  after  a very  pleasant  afternoon,  Avhen  Mrs. 
Courtnay  said  : 

‘‘  I shall  be  glad  if  I can  induce  you  to  prolong  your 
stay  at  the  Grange  a fcAV  days,  Mr.  Thorne,”  to  rhe 
infinite  surprise  of  Claire,  he  replied  : 


THE  LADY’S  TARN. 


173 


“ Thank  you,  dear  Madam,  T think  I will  accept 
your  kind  invitation,  and  thus  remove  all  doubts  of 
my  perfect  good  faith  from  the  mind  of  M.  Lapierre. 
I will  remain  your  guest  till  my  letters  arrive.” 

The  old  man’s  face  brightened,  and  he  held  out  Ids 
hand,  as  he  heartily  said : 

That  is  well,  sir,  and  I thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 
It  will  be  better  for  many  reasons  that  you  should  re- 
main here.  I know  that  you  will  not  think  me  inhos- 
pitable for  speaking  thus,  Mr.  Thorne?'” 

By  no  means  ; we  fully  understand  each  other,  I 
think.  In  a few  more  days  I shall  be  able  to  claim  the 
right  to  come  as  often  and  stay  as  long  as  I please,  and 
I warn  you  I shall  avail  myself  of  it.” 

He  glanced  at  Claire,  but  she  had  drawn  a thick  vail 
over  her  face,  to  conceal  the  disappointment  she  keenly 
felt,  for  she  had  not  believed  that  her  lover  would  con- 
sent to  be  left  behind.  He  drew  near  her,  and  whis- 
pered : 

It  is  best  so,  Rosebud.  Ever  near  you  I could 
not  restrain  the  feelings  that  are  ready  to  burst  into 
words  at  every  glance  of  your  lovely  eyes.  Youi 
father  has  some  fantastic  notions  that  I am  bound  to 
respect — and  I must  keep  in  his  good  graces.  Think 
of  me,  dream  of  me,  sweet  one,  for  I shall  come  to 
you  in  triumph  before  long,  bearing  'in  my  hand  the 
talisman  that  will  give  me  the  right  to  speak  of  all  that 
is  in  my  heart.”  • • 

She  gave  him  her  hand  in  silence,  and  stepping  into 
the  carriage,  was  whirled  away  by  the  side  of  her 
father. 


174  the  clandestine  MARKIAGE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  DIE  IS  CAST. 


ALTER  THORNE  could  not  deny  himself  the 


T T gratification  of  seeing  his  new  idol  every  day,  and 
he  rode  out  on  horseback,  ostensibly  for  the  benefit 
of  his  health,  but  really  to  give  an  opportunity  to  call 
at  Glenrose  and  deepen  the  impression  he  had  made 
on  the  little  maiden  who  dwelt  theie. 

Claire,  after  the  first  call,  spent  the  most  of  her 
time  in  wondering  when  he  would  come  again,  and  in 
watching  for  him  with  her  heart  upon  her  lips.  Her 
life,  so  lately  as  tranquil  as  the  clear  stream  that  rip- 
pled past  her  door,  had  become  a wild,  impetuous  tor- 
rent of  doubt,  hope,  dread,  and  passion,  that  took  from 
her  budding  youth  all  its  gentle  trust  in  the  future. 

Slie  felt  as  if  she  had  grown  older  by  years  since  this 
disturbing  element  came  into  her  quiet  life,  yet  she 
would  not  have  gone  back  to  what  she  was  before  she 
knew  Walter  Thorne.  She  accepted  the  lot  he  had 
brought  her,  be  it  for  good  or  for  evil,  and  shrank  from 
nothing  if  endured  with  him,  for  him.  When  togeth- 
(*r,  though  no  word  of  love  was  spoken,  each  under- 
stood the  other  as  well  as  if  the  most  impassioned  pro- 
testations had  been  exchanged,  and  both  were  supreme- 
ly happy  in  the  consciousness  of  loving  and  being- 
loved  with  all  the  depth  and  intensity  of  two  fiery 
natures,  that  responded  to  each  other  as  the  opposing 
poles  of  an  electric  battery. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  Thorne’s  removal  to  the 


THE  DIE  IS  CAST. 


176 


Grange,  the  mail  brought  him  four  letters.  Three  of 
them  we  have  already  seen ; and  the  fourth  one  he 
tossed  aside  till  the  others  had  been  perused.  He 
shouted  with  mad  laughter  over  Wingate’s  foi’gery, 
wondering  how  he  could  express  himself  so  properly 
in  the  paternal  character  ; but  he  sobered  down  con- 
siderably when  he  saw  what  his  friend  had  to  say  for 
liimself. 

Still  graver  grew  his  face  as  he  read  the  angry  pro- 
test of  his  father  and  his  irate  commands  to  return  im- 
mediately to  his  allegiance  to  his  betrothed.  He  sat 
grasping  this  letter  in  his  hand  a long  time,  marvelling 
if  the  writer  would  really  carry  out  his  threat  of  disin- 
heritance, if  he  pursued  the  bent  of  his  own  inclina- 
tions. His  lip  finally  curled  contemptuously,  as  he 
muttered : 

The  old  fellow  is  a terrible  blusterer,  but,  like 
Falstaff,  there  is  more  sound  than  fury  in  his  threat- 
enings.  I won’t  give  up  to  him.  I must  secure  this 
fascinating  little  gipsy  as  my  own,  or  my  destiny  will 
be  marred.  What  is  the  use  of  all  his  money  if  I,  his 
only  son,  cannot  purchase  with  it  the  happiness  of  my 
life  ? He  declares  that  he  won’t  give  it  to  me  if  I dis- 
obey him  ; but  that  is  all  bosh.  I will  bring  him  round 
yet,  and  make  him  think  my  Rosebud  the  most  en- 
chanting being  in  existence.” 

In  his  wild  dream  of  the  impossibilities  he  was  try- 
ing, in  imagination,  to  bring  about,  he  forgot  the  fourth 
letter  ; and,  when  his  eye  suddenly  fell  upon  it,  he 
slirank  as  if  a serpent  had  stung  him. 

He  lifted  the  dainty  envelope,  addressed  in  a lady’s 
hand;  and,  tearing  it  open,  drew  forth  the  enclosure, 
and  read  the  following  lines  : 


176  the  clandestine  marriage. 

“ Willow  Glen,  July  22d,  18—  ^ 

Dear  Walter  : — Mr.  Wingate  tells  me  that  yon 
tave  been  ill,  and  I was  not  near  you  to  nurse  you 
back  to  health  ; to  prove  to  3^011  how  tender  and  true 
T can  be  in  the  shadows,  as  in  the  sunshine,  of  life. 

I can  write  to  you  thus  freel}^,  because  our  posi- 
tion  gives  me  the  right  to  show  you  how  much  3^011 
are  to  me,  how  fondly  my  heart  clings  to  the  betrothed 

of  my  soul. 

*/ 

‘‘  Oh,  Walter,  how  deepl3^  I felt  3mur  strange  depart- 
ure, so  soon  after  our  betrothal,  I cannot  tell  3^11  ; but 
I would  not  believe  that  lack  of  love  for  the  girl  3mu 
had  asked  to  become  3mur  Avife  Avas  the  cause  of  3mur 
sudden  escapade.  Art  has  so  long  been  your  mistress 
that  you  were  loth  to  give  her  a rival  who  Avould  pos- 
sibly be  so  exacting  as  to  draw  jon  from  your  first 
love  if  you  remained  beside  her.  I tried  to  under- 
stand that,  and  excuse  your  desertion.  I did  pardon 
it,  for  deep  and  earnest  affection  is  fertile  in  excuses 
for  the  object  on  which  it  is  lavished. 

But  now  my  heart  begins  to  fear  that  it  was  not 
well  for  you  to  leave  me ; that  you  Avruld  have  been 
safer  beside  me  than  in  wandering  so  ! ir  aAvay.  You 
are  ill  in  body  and,  I begin  to  fear,  indifferent  in  feel- 
ing, to  her  Avhose  happiness  is  centered  in  you  alone. 

“ Come  back  to  me,  Walter ; something  Avhispers  to 
me  that  your  heart  has  wandered  from  its  allegiance, 
but  the  inconstancy  can  onl3^  be  temporar}^';  3^11  are 
bound  in  honor  to  me,  and  you  dare  not  break  tlie 
bond  you  3murself  formed.  My  pride  and  m3^  affec- 
tions are  equally  outraged  at  the  thought  of  such  Avant 
of  faith  on  your  part,  and  I will  not  think  such  treach- 
ery from  you  is  possible. 


THE  DIE  IS  CAST. 


17  V 


‘‘  I have  read  over  what  I have  written,  and  I am 
strongly  tempted  to  destroy  it ; yet,  why  should  I dc 
so?  After  the  vows  that  have  been  exchanged  be- 
tween us,  I have  the  right  to  express  my  feelings  with- 
out reserve. 

Mr.  Wingate  came  to  me  last  evening  to  say  that 
you  had  written  to  him,  though  not  to  me ; some 
things  he  said  gave  birth  to  such  pangs  of  jealous 
doubt  as  you  will  never  have  cause  to  feel  on  my  ac- 
count. He  spoke  of  the  people  you  are  with,  and 
casually  betrayed  that  you  had  been  nursed  by  a 
pretty  and  interesting  girl. 

‘‘  Ah,  Walter,  when  weakened  by  illness,  and  grate- 
ful for  attention  to  your  comfort,  you  may  come  to 
think  too  tenderly  of  this  young  creature.  I only 
speak  to  warn  you,  for  I can  never  submit  to  have  a 
corner  in  your  heart  given  up  to  another  woman. 
Come  away  from  these  people,  I entreat ; pay  them  as 
liberally  as  possible  in  gold  for  the  kindness  they  have 
extended  to  you,  but  not  in  the  heart’s  coin,  for  that 
belongs  exclusively  to  ive. 

By  this  time  you  aie  able  to  travel,  I hope,  and  I 
shall  look  for  you  from  day  to  day  till  you  make  your 
appearance  among  those  who  love  and  appreciate  you 
far  more  highly  than  mere  passing  acquaintances  can. 

Your  devoted  Aones. 

Thorne  read  over  this  effusion  with  clouds  d brow 
and  compressed  lips,  and  he  began  dimly  to  . ee  that 
he  was  in  a dilemma  from  which  it  would  be  difficult 
to  extricate  himself.  He  saw  that  his  betrothed 
would  not  lightly  surrender  her  rights,  and  he  feared 
that  she  would  use  her  efforts  to  keep  alive  the  anger 
11 


178  the  clandestine  marriage. 


of  his  father  against  him,  if  he  persisted  in  his  present 
course  ; for  he  knew  that  Agnes  Willard  possessed 
greater  influence  over  the  passionate  and  haughty  old 
man  than  any  one  living.  To  bring  about  a union  be- 
tween himself  and  Agnes  had  been,  for  several  years, 
the  most  earnest  desire  of  Colonel  Thorne’s  heart ; 
and  Walter  knew  if  she  wished  to  hold  him  to  the 
pledges  he  had  made,  his  father  would  never  forgive 
him  for  deserting  her. 

He  began  to  think  himself  a madman  to  dream  of 
such  a course  himself,  for  ruin  stared  him  in  the  face 
if  he  were  eventually  cast  off.  He  was  unfitted  for 
any  pursuit  in  life ; he  had  been  an  idler,  and  a man 
of  leisure,  with  a handsome  allowance,  which  he  often 
exceeded  ; what  could  he  possibly  do  towards  winning 
his  bread  if  he  found  himself  thrown  on  his  own  re- 
sources, was  the  question  he  vainly  asked  himself. 

The  criticism  of  M.  Lapierre  had  opened  his  eyes  to 
the  inferiority  of  his  pictures  ; and  even  if  his  talent 
was  above  mediocrity,  years  must  elapse  before  he 
could  hope  to  win  such  a reputation  as  would  enable 
hini  to  live  by  his  art. 

So  much  said  common  sense.  Then  arose  before 
him  the  enchanting  face  that  had  so  completely  be- 
witched him,  and  all  the  passionate  impulses  of  his  na- 
ture surged  up,  demanding  wh)^  he  should  sacrifice 
himself  and  his  happiness  at  the  bidding  of  an  unrefi- 
Bonable  old  man,  who  possessed  the  power  to  disin- 
herit him. 

Colonel  Thorne  would  not  eventually  do  it,  he  per- 
suaded himself;  he  could  not,  for  Ke  was  an  only 
child,  and  when  his  father  knew  the  deed  to  be  irre- 
vocable, he  must  relent.  To  whom  should  he  give 


THE  DIE  IS  CAST. 


179 


his  wealth  but  to  his  natural  heir  ? And  as  to  Agnes 
Willard,  she  had  many  lovers,  and  among  them  she 
could  find  one  to  console  her  for  his  desertion. 

Thorne  glanced  over  her  letter  again,  and  thought 
she  asserted  her  rights  too  strongly.  It  was  not  maid- 
enly to  write  as  she  had  written.  She  would  be  jeal- 
ous as  a Turk,  too,  that  was  evident  enough,  and  he 
must  pass  a happier  life  with  Claire  than  she  would 
give  him,  even  if  his  heart  was  not  so  deeply  en- 
thralled by  her  rival.  Both  loved  him,  but  how  could 
he  place  the  affection  bestowed  by  the  impulsive  child 
of  nature,  in  comparison  with  that  cherished  for  him 
by  a cold,  self-reliant  woman  like  Agnes  Willard  ? 
Besides,  she  was  quite  as  old  as  himself,  and  her  rival 
was  a budding  Euphrosyne  with  all  the  exquisite 
charms  of  early  youth,  combined  with  a depth  of  feel- 
ing and  sensibility,  as  rare  at  her  age  as  it  was  fascin- 
ating. 

As  might  have  been  expected  from  the  character  of 
the  man,  the  scale  turned  in  favor  of  Claire,  and 
Thorne  forthwith  destroyed  the  two  letters  written  by 
his  father  and  Agnes ; the  remonstrance  of  Wingate 
also  shared  the  same  fate ; then  armed  with  the  spuri- 
ous consent  of  Colonel  Thorne,  to  his  speedy  union 
with  the  object  of  his  pursuit,  he  sought  Mrs.  Court- 
nay,  and  displayed  it  to  her  in  triumph. 

After  carefully  perusing  it  she  gravely  said : 

‘‘  I am  glad  that  your  father  throws  no  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  your  marriage  with  Claire  ; but  I am  sorry 
that  he  seems  to  desire  an  immediate  union,  Mr. 
Thorne.  I still  adhere  to  my  opinion  that  she  is  too 
young  to  marry,  and  I shall  oppose  anytliing  beyond  a 
betrothal  for  the  present.” 


180  the  clat^destine  marriage. 

He  laughingly  replied  : 

‘‘We  will  settle  about  that,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  due 
weight  shall  be  given  to  your  objections.  I must 
hasten  now  to  Glenrose  to  display  my  credentials.  I 
am  impatient  to  see  the  bright  eyes  of  my  beauty  flash 
with  joy  and  pride,  when  she  reads  what  I have  to 
show  her.” 

He  sprang  down  the  steps,  waved  a farewell, 
as  he  mounted  the  horse  which  had  been  brought 
around  for  his  evening  ride,  and  galloped  off  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Glen. 

Reckless  and  determined,  Thorne  was  by  this  time 
in  a mood  to  sacrifice  everything  to  the  attainment  of 
the  object  he  so  ardently  desired  to  possess.  He 
would  trust  to  Providence  to  bring  all  right  in  the 
end,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would  have  his  own  way, 
cost  what  it  might  to  himself  or  to  Claire. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  BETROTHAL 

r|i;iORNE  found  M.  Lapierre  sitting  on  ilie  portico 
Xal()i:e,  and  the  young  lover  sprang  from  his  steed, 
flourishing  the  open  letter  above  his  head. 

“ Eureka  ! victory  ! ” he  exultingiy  exclaimed. 
“ Did  I not  tell  3^ou,  sir,  what  the  result  of  my  appli- 
cation to  my  father  would  be  ? Read  that,  and  see 
how  fully  and  freely  he  consents  to  my  marriage  ; how 
anxious  he  is  to  serve  you.  He  knows  something  of 
your  former  high  estate,  it  seems,  and  he  has  sympathy 
for  a fallen  star  of  the  financial  world.” 


THE  BETBOTHAL. 


181 


Thorne  was  very  much  excited,  and  in  the  triumph 
of  the  moment,  he  completely  ignored  the  fraud  he 
was  about  to  impose  on  this  honest  old  man.  M.  La- 
pierre,  with  some  trepidation,  took  the  offered  letter, 
glanced  over  it,  and,  with  a gratified  smile,  said: 

This  is  as  explicit  as  I could  wish,  and  very,  very 
kind,  I am  sure.  So  your  father  has  really  heard  of 
me ; and  in  the  exuberance  of  his  goodness,  he  offers 
me  a position  among  men  again.  I thank  him  deeply, 
sincerely,  but  it  is  too  late — too  late.  I shall  write  to 
him  myself,  and  express  my  feelings  both  with  refer- 
ence to  myself  and  my  daughter.  If  he  will  be  kiud 
to  her,  it  is  all  I ask  of  him.  For  myself,  it  is  too  late 
to  do  anything.” 

‘‘  I am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  sir;  but  we  must 
see  about  it  in  the  future.  Just  now  I have  but  one 
thought,  and  that  is  for  Rose.  I may  seek  her  now,  I 
suppose,  and  win  from  her  a promise  to  become  my 
wife!” 

Yes,  but  at  some  distant  day  ; that  is  understood, 
and  I have  already  given  my  word  to  Mrs.  Courtiiay 
that  Claire  shall  go  to  Europe  with  her.” 

^’'Diahle!''  arose  to  the  lips  of  Thorne,  but  he  re- 
pressed the  exclamation  in  time,  thinking  that  he  would 
gain  his  own  point  yet  in  spite  of  them.  He  had  not 
plunged  himself  in  a web  of  deceit  and  falsehood  to  be 
baffled  now.  He  calmed  his  impatience,  and  quietly 
said : 

I have  heard  of  that  plan,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  as 
well  to  defer  our  union  till  Claire  is  older  ; but  I must; 
tell  her  all  that  is  in  my  lieart,  M.  Lapierre,  and  witli 
your  permission,  1 will  seek  lier.  By  the  way,  when 
your  letter  to  my  father  is  written,  transfer  it  to  me, 


182  the  clandestine  marriage. 


and  I will  address,  and  forward  it  with  own.  I 
shall  hardly  know  how  to  thank  him  for  the  happiness 
he  has  conferred  on  me.’’ 

Lapierre  smiled  and  nodded  acquiescence,  and 
Thorne  disappeared  through  the  door.  He  heard  the 
tones  of  the  violin,  and  followed  them  to  the  sanctum 
of  Claire.  He  had  often  been  there  before,  but  only 
as  a guest ; now  he  felt  as  if  he  entered  it  as  master 
of  the  retreat,  and  its  lovely  owner. 

Claire,  in  a white  dress,  with  a few  roses  in  her 
shining  hair,  sat  near  the  window  practising  an  air  her 
lover  had  taught  her ; but  at  the  sound  of  the  firm 
step  that  rang  upon  the  floor,  she  started  up  flushing 
with  joyful  welcome.  She  saw  the  letter  he  held  up, 
dropped  the  instrument  at  her  feet,  and  sprang  a few 
steps  towards  him,  eagerly  crying : 

“ It  has  come — all  is  right,  for  your  face  tells  me  so.” 

Thorne  caught  her  to  his  heart,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  showered  kisses  on  her  brow  and  lips. 

‘‘  It  is  right,  my  darling,  my  own — my  heart’s  love. 
I am  free  to  win  you  as  fast  as  I can  ; at  last  I can  ex- 
press what  has  been  struggling  for  utterance  for  days 
past,  and  you  can  listen  without  reproach.  But  you 
are  not  to  listen  alone,  my  angel ; confirm  in  words 
V hat  I liave  guessed,  that  you  love  me  as  ardently  as  I 
do  you  ; is  it  not  so,  rose  of  my  life  ? ” 

She  hid  her  face  upon  his  breast,  and  the  faint 
‘‘  yes  ” that  issued  from  her  lips  was  scarcely  audible, 
1)11  L Thorne  understood  it,  and  he  embraced  and  kissed 
her  again,  till  she  shrank  from  him,  abashed  and  trem- 
bling. 

Claire  sat  down  in  one  of  the  large  chairs,  and  her 
lover  placed  himself  on  a cushion  at  her  feet,  that  he 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


183 


might  look  up  into  her  face,  and  read  the  exquisite 
changes  that  flitted  over  it,  each  one,  he  thought,  more 
entrancing  than  the  one  that  preceded  it. 

With  the  abandon  of  a boy  just  freed  from  restraint, 
he  poured  forth  the  love  that  was  in  his  heart,  though 
he  carefully  guarded  the  treachery  of  which  he  was 
conscious  through  all  his  happiness.  But  he  soothed 
his  sense  of  wrong-doing  by  the  proverb  that  all  is 
fair  in  love  and  war,”  and,  in  spite  of  the  misgivings 
that  would  intrude,  he  was,  for  the  moment,  as  fool- 
ishly enraptured  as  if  his  prospects  rested  on  the  most 
stable  foundations. 

He  had  cast  care  to  the  winds,  never  dreaming  that 
tliey  were  likely  to  nurse  it  till  it  burst  in  a tornado 
over  himself,  and  the  innocent  object  of  his  reckless 
pursuit.  He  believed  himself  ready  to  brave  every- 
thing for  her  sake  ; yet  he  did  not  once  ask  himself  if 
he  would  stand  by  her  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  defend 
her  cause  in  defiance  of  all  the  world. 

Unconscious  that  she  would  have  a cause  to  sustain 
ill  the  enchanting  future  that  opened  before  her,  Claire 
listened  to  the  raptures  of  her  adorer,  and  responded 
to  them  in  her  own  sweet  way,  till  he  thought  the 
world  well  lost  for  the  possession  of  such  a treasure. 

When  twilight  began  to  gather,  M.  Lapierre  came 
in  to  join  them,  and  the  two  descended  from  the  radiant 
heaven  to  which  they  had  been  transported,  to  the 
prosaic  realities  of  common  life. 

The  supper  of  fruit,  cream,  and  tea  cakes,  had  been 
hud  in  the  front  yard  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  for 
I Jett}"  had  discovered  that  the  bare  and  comfortless 
(lining-room  was  not  to  the  taste  of  the  young  auto- 
crat, who,  she  had  shrewdness  enough  to  see,  was  rap- 


184  the  CLAISTDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


idly  establishing  a strong  foothold  in  the  house  that 
had  sheltered  him. 

Thorne  had  further  propitiated  her  by  laying  aside 
his  tone  of  levity  when  he  addressed  her,  and  by  the 
present  of  a few  gold  pieces,  which  the  old  woman  was 
not  suflSciently  disinterested  to  refuse. 

The  white  folks  thought  all  would  be  right,”  she 
argued  with  herself ; ‘‘  so  why  shouldn’t  she  believe 
in  so  liberal  a gentleman  as  Mr.  Thorne  ? ” 

The  little  party  found  the  table  decorated  with  fresh 
flowers,  and  the  alfresco  repast  was  enjoyed  as  much 
as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances.  Thorne  was 
the  only  one  who  had  much  appetite  for  the  dainty 
fruit  and  rich  cream  ; but  he  was  recovering  from  ill- 
ness, and  therefore  the.  excitement  of  his  feelings  did 
not  prevent  him  from  doing  justice  to  the  good  things 
set  before  him. 

When  Betty  brought  a cup  of  hot  tea  to  each  one, 
Thorne  took  it  from  her  waiter,  and  said,  with  eyes 
sparkling  with  mischief : 

You  need  not  attempt  to  stand  guard  over  your 
young  lady  and  myself  any  longer,  Mrs.  Betty.  Every- 
thing is  settled  ; and  I have  permission  to  make  love 
to  her  as  m.uch  as  I please.  Ask  papa  there,  if  it  is 
not  true  ? ” 

Claire  blushed  and  laughed,  and  Lapierre  gravely 
said  : 

‘‘Yes,  Betty  ; this  young  gentleman  is  to  be  my  son 
at  some  future  da}^  It  is  right  that  so  faithful  a ser- 
vant as  you  have  been,  should  be  told  of  it.” 

“ Bless  de  Lor’  for  all  his  mercies,”  cried  the  old 
woman,  devoutly  ; “ I’s  allers  thought  dat  my  Rose- 
bud would  come  to  be  a gran’  lady.  I only  hopes  as 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


185 


she’ll  be  as  happy  as  she’s  sweet  and  innercent.  De 
good  man  looks  after  his  own,  an’  he’ll  keep  her  in  his 
han,’  I hopes  and  believes.  I’ll  pray  for  her  every  day 
of  my  life,  as  I allers  has  ever  since  she  was  born.” 

And  I hope  yon  will  give  me  the  benefit  of  some 
of  your  prayers,  too,  old  lady,  for  I am  afraid  I sadly 
need  them,”  said  Thorne,  half  mockingly,  half  in 
earnest. 

“ You  speaks  de  trufe,  now,  young  man;  but  we’s 
tole  dat  de  believin’  wife  shall  save  de  unbelievin’  hus- 
ban’ : an’  when  you  has  an  angel  to  walk  through  de 
work  wid  you,  in  course  you’ll  git  worf  lookin’  arter 
by  de  blessed  Marster.  But  I’ll  ax  him  all  de  same  to 
have  a sharp  eye  on  you,  an’  keep  you  in  the  way  you 
should  go.” 

The  young  lover  laughed  gleefully  at  this,  and  said  : 

“ Of  course,  with  Claire  to  look  after  me,  you  to 
pray  for  me,  and  the  Good  Master  to  guide  me,  I shall 
not  be  apt  to  falter  in  well  doing.  But  I intend  to 
try  and  make  your  Rosebud  happy,  I assure  you,  Mrs. 
Betty.” 

In  course  you  thinks  so  now,  sir ; but  I wonder 
what  you’ll  do  when  trouble  comes  on  you,  as  it  must 
to  all  ye  til’s  creatures.  You’s  a quick  speakin’  young- 
.ster,  an’  our  Rosebud  ain’t  bein’  used  to  nuffin  but 
pettin’  an’  sweet  words.  You  must  ’member  dat,  Mr 
Thorne,” 

‘‘  As  if  I should  be  likely  to  forget  it,”  and  he 
hushed  slightly  under  the  old  woman’s  fondness  for 
lecturing. 

‘‘  That  will  do  for  the  present,  Betty,”  said  Lapierre. 
" Remove  the  things  now  ; and  you,  Claire,  had  better 
retire  to  your  retreat,  and  leave  me  a little  while  with 
Mr.  T^eorne.  I wish  to  speak  with  him  in  private.” 


186  the  clandestine  marriage. 

His  orders  were  obeyed,  and  he  and  Thorne  paced 
to  and  fro  beneath  the  trees,  talking  earnestly.  The 
tones  of  the  younger  man’s  voice  were  several  times 
raised  in  vehement  remonstrance,  but  in  spite  of  his 
arguments  in  favor  of  an  immediate  marriage,  all  he 
could  gain  from  Lapierre  was  the  promise  that  a for- 
mal betrothal  should  take  place  that  evening  before 
they  separated.  Thorne  was  forced  to  concede  that 
Claire  should  complete  her  imperfect  education  before 
their  union  took  place.  Deeply  chagrined  as  he  was  at 
this,  he  consoled  himself  wdth  the  certainty  that  his 
own  influence  over  the  object  of  his  choice  would  place 
her  fate  absolutely  in  his  power,  and  he  fully  intended 
to  use  it  to  circumvent  her  father’s  wishes. 

He  smoothed  his  brow,  as  he  heard  the  sound  of 
approaching  wheels,  and  in  a few  more  moments  Mrs. 
Courtnay  drove  to  the  gate,  and  alighted  from  her 
carriage. 

“ It  is  late  to  come  over,”  she  said,  “ but  I felt  anx- 
ious about  what  is  to  be  settled  to-night,  and  I could 
not  remain  at  home.” 

Thorne  lightly  said : 

‘‘  I am  glad  that  you  have  joined  us,  Mrs.  Courtnay, 
for  things  have  been  settled  to  your  satisfaction.  You 
have  won  and  I have  lost,  for  M.  Lapierre  will  not 
consent  that  I shall  have  my  bride  at  once.  My  friends 
will  be  disappointed  at  the  result  of  my  wooing,  but  I 
find  my  old  friend  here  immovable.” 

There  was  a tone  of  deep  chagrin  in  his  voice,  and 
Mrs.  Courtnay  gently  replied : 

‘‘  The  time  will  come,  Mr.  Thorne,  in  which  you  will 
acknowledge  that  we  are  right  to  retain  Claire  among 
us  till  she  is  better  fitted  for  the  position  in  which  you 


THE  BETROTHAL 


187 


wish  to  place  her.  I have  sufficiently  discussed  this 
subject  with  you  and  you  fully  understand  my  wishes 
with  regard  to  my  god-child.  To  carry  them  out  will 
be  for  your  mutual  benefit.” 

‘‘So  you  may  think,  madam;  but  I cannot  agree 
with  you.  Pure  and  perfect  happiness  is  rarely  found 
on  this  earth,  yet  you  deny  it  fruition  to  Claire  and 
myself.  You  wish  to  separate  her  from  me,  that  she 
may  be  taught  to  be  conventional  and  worldly,  while  I 
prize  her  for  the  sweet  simplicity  that  is  her  most  at- 
tractive charm.  I wish  for  no  change  in  her  ; I adore 
her  as  she  is.” 

“ I comprehend  that ; but  it  does  not  alter  my  con- 
victions as  to  our  duty  to  our  child,  Mr.  Thorne.  I 
expect  you  to  chafe  a little  under  your  disappointment. 
You  would  not  be  a true  lover  if  you  did  not ; but  you 
are  too  reasonable  not  to  yield  gracefully  to  the  wishes 
of  M.  Lapierre.” 

He  rather  sullenly  replied : 

“ Of  course  I must  yield.  There  is  nothing  else  left 
me ; but  I cannot  do  it  with  a good  grace.  Since 
nothing  more  is  to  be  gained,  I consent  to  the  betroth- 
al, as  that  will,  in  some  sort,  bind  Claire  to  me.” 

The  three  went  into  the  house  together,  and  in  a few 
moments  entered  Claire’s  retreat.  The  room  was  bril- 
liantly illuminated,  and,  as  usual,  decorated  with  fresh 
flowers.  The  young  girl,  herself  the  fairest  flower  of 
them  all,  stood  beside  a music-stand,  looking  over  its 
contents.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes  bril- 
liant with  the  new  light  of  love  that  flooded  her  whole 
being ; and  in  her  heart  she  wished  that  she  was  mis- 
tress of  her  destiny,  for  she  would  have  left  both  father 
and  friend  to  follow  him  she  had  learned  to  love  so 
trustingly. 


188  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  went  forward,  and  tenderly  kissing 
her,  said  : 

I have  come  to  witness  your  betrothal,  Claire,  for 
I felt  sure  Mr.  Thorne  would  not  defer  it  beyond  this 
evening.  Dear  child,  do  not  tremble.  It  is  a simple 
ceremony,  and  will  soon  be  over.” 

‘‘  I do  not  tremble  with  fear,  but  with  happiness,” 
whispered  the  young  girl,  as  she  buried  her  face  in  the 
maternal  bosom  that  had  been  her  refuge  in  all  her 
childish  troubles.  ‘‘  Oh,  mamma^  that  Walter  should 
have  chosen  me  from  all  others — that  he  should  be 
willing  to  lift  me  to  an  equality  with  himself,  seems 
too  great  happiness  for  an  obscure  creature  like  my- 
.self.” 

“ My  dear  Claire,  you  must  not  underrate  yourself. 
In  everything,  save  fortune,  you  are  quite  Mr. 
Thorne’s  equal.  A wife  must  claim  the  respect  as 
well  as  the  affection  of  her  husband.  Remember  that, 
my  love,  and  maintain  your  own' dignity. 

Claire  faintly  laughed  at  the  last  suggestion,  for  she 
was  too  much  of  a child  to  dream  of  dignity  in  connec- 
tion with  herself.  She  lifted  her  beautiful  eyes,  and 
glanced  slyly  towards  her  father  and  lover.  Lapierre 
gravely  said : 

“ Mj^  daughter,  I have  formally  consented  to  a be- 
trothal between  yourself  and  Mr.  Thorne,  and  as  he  is 
anxious  to  have  the  ceremony  over,  we  have  come 
hither  for  that  purpose.  Give  him  your  hand,  and  re- 
peat such  a form  of  words  as  you  may  think  necessary 
to  keep  you  true  to  each  other,  through  the  two  years 
of  probation  that  have  been  settled  on.” 

Thorne  sprang  to  her  side,  drew  Claire  to  the  centre 
of  the  floor,  and  clasping  her  hand  in  a fervent  press- 
ure, said,  in  a loud  vibrant  voice  : 


THE  BETKOTHAL. 


189 


“ I pledge  my  love,  my  life,  my  honor  to  you^ 
Claire  Lapierre,  and  vow  before  Heaven  that  you 
shall  become  my  beloved  and  cherished  wife,  as  soon 
as  I am  permitted  to  make  you  such,  and  in  token  of 
my  faith,  I place  upon  your  finger  this  ring  which  was 
once  my  mother’s.” 

. As  he  slipped  on  the  ring — a plain  hoop  of  gold, 
which  he  had  worn  on  his  little  finger — Claire,  with 
perfect  self-possession,  spoke  in  her  turn : 

“ And  I accept  your  troth,  Walter  Thorne,  and  give 
you  in  return  my  promise  to  cling  only  unto  you.  To 
love  you,  to  be  true  to  you  through  all  the  chances 
and  changes  of  life,  and  to  hold  myself  ready  to  ratify 
these  vows  at  the  altar  whenever  the  consent  of  my 
father  permits  me  to  do  so.” 

A voice  from  the  door  cried  out  ‘‘Amen,”  and  all 
turned  to  see  who  had  intruded  on  this  scene. 

A small,  fair  man,  wearing  a long,  flowing  black 
robe,  with  an  ebony  cross  hanging  from  the  girdle  that 
bound  his  waist,  stood  in  the  doorway.  Lapierre  ap- 
proached him  with  words  of  eager  welcome. 

“ Dear  Father  Jerome,  what  has  brought  you  to  our 
valley  again  ? I have  been  most  anxious  to  see  you, 
and  you  never  could  have  arrived  at  a more  opportune 
moment.” 

“Thanks,  my  son.  I have  come  back  to  make  the 
Happy  Valley  my  abiding  place  so  long  as  I tarry  on 
earth.  I have  been  compelled  to  relinquish  my  wan- 
dering life,  and  my  missionary  duties  are  at  an  end.  I 
find  that  I must  have  a settled  home  on  account  of  my 
rapidly  failing  health.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  and  Claire  came  forward  with  ex- 
tended hands  and  smiles  of  welcome,  and  Father 
Jerome  said : 


190 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


My  daughters,  I give  you  my  blessing  ; and  this 
young  gentleman  is  entitled  to  it,  too,  I presume,  from 
the  scene  I have  just  witnessed.” 

He  gave  one  hand  to  Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  laid  the 
other  on  the  head  of  Claire  , as  he  thus  spoke,  looking 
earnestly  at  Thorne,  as  if  expecting  an  avowal  of  his 
religious  faith. 

Lapierre  seemed  embarrassed,  and  hastened  to  say : 

I dare  say  I have  been  very  much  to  blame,  but 
until  this  moment  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  to  in- 
quire of  Mr.  Thorne  to  what  church  Tie  belongs.  In 
fact,  as  Claire’s  mother  was  a Protestant,  I have  been 
more  careless  than  I otherwise  should.” 

The  priest  gravely  said  : 

You  were  the  stronger  party  in  that  contract,  and 
you  allowed  your  wife  the  exercise  of  her  own  faith. 
Will  this  young  man  be  equally  lenient  with  Claire,  if 
he  is  not  one  of  ourselves  ? ” 

To  this  query  Thorne  hastened  to  reply,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  make  a friend  of  the  speaker,  who,  ho 
foresaw,' might  be  made  useful  in  the  future.  He  re- 
spectfully spoke : 

“ Holy  father,  I belong  to  no  sect  of  Christians,  but 
I am  anxious  to  receive  such  instruction  as  will  fit  me 
to  choose  among  them.  The  church  to  which  my  be- 
trothed bride  belongs  I will  gladly  enter  if  I can  be 
convinced  that  it  is  the  true  one.” 

Father  Jerome  warmly  grasped  his  hand,  for  he  was 
most  earnest  in  the  calling  he  had  embraced  from  the 
convictions  of  his  own  heart,  and  he  thought  he  saw 
before  him  a promising  proselyte  to  the  ancient  faith 
he  firmly  believed  to  be  the  only  true  one. 

He  spoke  with  solemn  and  impressive  dignity. 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


191 


“ My  8on,  the  heart  that  is  open  to  conviction  is  al- 
wa3^s  a noble  and  faithful  one.  We  will  talk  seriously 
together  at  a more  fitting  time,  and  I hope  to  be  able 
to  convince  you  where  true  salvation  is  to  be  found. 
I am  glad  to  know  that  this  pet  lamb  of  my  flock  will 
not  fall  into  unworthy  hands,  for  I have  loved  her 
from  her  babyhood.” 

The  priest  looked  so  feeble  and  worn  that  Claire 
hastened  to  place  a chair  for  him,  and  he  sunk  into  it 
breathing  heavily. 

“ Dear  Father,  I fear  that  you  have  over-exerted 
yourself,”  said  Mrs.  Courtnay ; you  seem  very  much 
exhausted.” 

It  is  the  weary  travel  in  the  hot  sun  that  has  so 
overcome  me.  I have  walked  many  miles  with  this 
haven  of  rest  in  view.  I am  failing  rapidly,  my 
daughter,  and  I have  come  back  to  the  old  place  to 
yield  up  my  spirit  in  its  peaceful  shades.  But  to 
the  will  of  God  I resign  myself.” 

‘‘“I  trust  that  He  will  not  decree  that  you  shall  be 
taken  from  us  in  the  midst  of  your  days,”  replied  Mrs. 
Courtnay,  with  emotion.  “ I have  often  wished  for 
your  return,  and  now  that  we  have  you  back  with  us, 
we  will  nurse  you  into  strength  and  usefulness  again.” 

He  shook  his  head,  already  silvered  over,  though  he 
had  not  passed  his  fortieth  year,  and  mournfully  re- 
plied : 

That  may  never  be,  for  my  labors  are  nearly  end- 
ed. But  I did  not  come  hither  to  cast  a gloom  over 
my  friends,  and  above  all,  I would  not  bring  the 
shadow  of  doom  into  a house  that  has  just  witnessed 
the  betrothal  of  two  young  and  happy  hearts.” 

Claire  had  flitted  out,  and  she  now  returned,  follow* 


192 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


ed  by  Betty,  bearing  a waiter  on  which  refreshments 
were  placed.  The  old  woman  asked  and  received  the 
benediction  of  her  spiritual  father,  and  then  bustled 
out  to  complete  the  preparation  of  the  tea  which  she 
knew  would  prove  the  best  restorative  for  the  weary 
priest. 

Father  Jerome  had  for  years  lived  the  hard  and  la- 
borious life  of  a missionary",  wandering  from  one  moun- 
tain district  to  another,  wherever  the  followers  of  his 
faith  were  to  be  found,  occasionally  spending  an  inter- 
val of  repose  in  the  valley  among  the  cultivated  friends 
he  found  there.  Mrs.  Courtnay  had  erected  a small 
chapel  on  her  place,  in  which  he  officiated  when  in  the 
neighborhood ; and  near  it  was  a secluded  cottage 
which  she  had  often  pressed  him  to  accept  as  a perma- 
nent home. 

Hitherto  he  had  refused  to  give  up  his  wandering 
life,  but  now  he  had  come  to  avail  himself  of  the 
promise  she  had  made  him,  that  the  place  should  be 
opeii  to  him  whenever  he  felt  himself  willing  to  accept 
it.  A violent  cold,  contracted  during  the  previous 
winter,  had  settled  on  his  lungs,  and  the  priest  knew 
that  his  days  were  numbered,  so  he  came  to  the  friends 
lie  loved  best  to  die  with  them. 

When  he  had  refreshed  himself,  Mrs.  Courtnay 
dieerfully  said  : 

Your  cottage  is  ready  to  receive  you,  father,  for  I 
have  had  it  kept  in  order  for  your  reception  at  any 
hour ; but  you  must  spend  a few  days  at  the  Grange 
with  me  before  you  take  formal  possession.” 

Tlianks,  my  dang] iter  ; I knew  that  I should  find 
your  benevolent  lieart  open  to  my  necessities  ; there- 
tnre  I came  to  } ou  and  to  niy  old  friends  here  to  minis- 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


193 


ter  to  me  when  I am  no  longer  able  to  suffice  to  my- 
self. I liave  not  spared  myself  hi  this  service  of  others, 
but  it  is  better  ‘ to  wear  out  than  to  rust  out.’  What 
lias  become'  of  the  young  people,  and  how  is  it  that 
I find  Claire  a betrothed  bride  while  the  crown  of 
childhood  is  yet  upon  her  j^oung  brow  ? ” 

With  some  reluctance,  Lapierre  explained  how 
Thorne  came  into  the  valley  ; how  ill  he  had  been, 
and  how  Claire  had  been  compelled  to  play  the  part  of 
nurse  to  him.  But  he  hastened  to  say  that  the  cere- 
mony Father  Jerome  had  witnessed  was  not  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  an  immediate  marriage. 

The  priest  listened  attentively,  and  then  said: 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  young  man  was  thrown 
on  your  hospitality,  but  it  was  fate,  I suppose.  I do 
not  ajiprove  of  long  engagements ; they  rarely  end 
well.  If  this  Mr.  Thorne  is  all  you  tell  me  ; if  he  can 
secure  the  future  of  Claire,  I think  you  will  do  well  to 
allow  the  marriage  to  take  place  without  any  unneces- 
sary delay.  They  seem  to  be  very  much  in  love  with 
each  other,  so  why  should  you  postpone  their  happi- 
ness ? ” 

But  Claire  is  so  very  young,  as  you  yourself  re- 
marked just  novn” 

Yes — I was  surprised  that  you  had  suffered  things 
to  go  so  far,  but  having  done  so,  it  will  be  best  to  com- 
[)lete  the  affair,  for  Claire  will  consider  herself  as  much 
bound  to  this  young  man  as  if  the  blessing  of  the 
church  had  been  pronounced  over  them  ; and  he,  when 
he  leaves  her,  may  consider  himself  free  to  go  upon 
his  way,  and  forget  his  pledges  to  her.  The  poor 
child  will  be  left  in  a very  disagreeable  position.” 

“ Really,  father,”  said  Mrs.  Courtnay,  “ I scaicely 

12 


194  the  claxdestkxk  marriage. 


expected  you  to  take  sides  \vit!i*Mr.  Thorne — for  lie  is 
most  anxious  to  have  his  marriage  concluded  at  once. 
I hope  you  will  not  express  your  views  before  him,  for 
I have  set  my  heart  on  taking  Claire  with  me  to  Europe 
next  spring.” 

‘‘  Of  course  I shall  not  place  myself  in  opposition  to 
her  father’s  wishes,”  was  the  grave  response.  ‘‘  I 
merely  expressed  my  own  convictions.  I do  not  ex- 
pect either  vou  or  M.  Lapierre  to  be  influenced  by 
them.” 

While  this  conversation  went  on  Claire  and  her  lovei 
were  out  in  the  summer  night  beneath  the  stars  talk- 
ing such  sweet  nonsense  as  lovers  like  to  hear  ; utter- 
ing vows  of  eternal  constancy,  and  planning  the  ideal 
life  they  would  spend  together  in  those  days  when  they 
would  be  permitted  to  walk  hand  in  hand  upon  the 
path  of  life.  ^ 

Thorne  at  length  said  : 

‘‘  But,  Claire,  I wish  to  claim  you  now.  Two  years 
are  so  long  to  wait,  and  you  will  soon  be  removed  so 
far  away.  Oh  ! my  darling,  if  I do  not  claim  you 
within  a month,  I have  a presentiment  that  something 
will  happen  to  separate  us  forever.” 

‘‘  But  what  can  happen,  Walter?  The  time  seems 
long,  but  it  will  soon  pass  away,  and  however  distant 
fiom  you  I may  be,  my  heart  will  be  ever  with  you — 
my  thoughts  will  always  hover  around  you.  If  I go 
with  mamma,  it  will  only  be  to  render  myself  more 
worthy  to  become  your  wife.” 

“ I know — I understand  all  3^011  can  say  on  that  sub- 
ject ; but  j^ou  are  all  that  I wish  now.  If — if — Oh, 
Rosebud,  listen  to  me,  and  yield  to  my  prayer.  You 
are  mine  by  a solemn  ceremony  now  ; consent  to  make 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


195 


that  irrevocable  without  the  knowledge  of  your  father, 
and  all  will  be  well.  He  will  forgive  us  when  it  is 
over.  Speak,  my  angel — tell  me  that  you  will  become 
really  mine,  and  I shall  be  the  happiest  and  proudest 
of  men.” 

Claire  shrank  from  him,  and  hurriedly  said : 

“ Don’t  tempt  me  to  do  wrong,  Walter.  Papa  would 
forgive  me,  but  he  would  lose  faith  in  me  and  also  in 
you,  if  we  deceived  him.  My  heart  is  traitor  enough 
to  him  without  giving  him  this  final  blow.” 

So  you  prefer  sending  me  from  you,  miserable  and 
despairing,  sooner  than  take  your  fate  in  your  own 
hands.  Oh,  Claire,  if  you  loved  as  I do,  you  could 
not  be  so  cruel.  I would  defy  the  world  for  your  sake. 
I would  pass  through  fire  to  win  you,  and  you  refuse 
me  what  I have  almost  the  right  to  demand  after  what 
has  passed  here  this  evening.” 

She  stood  white  and  trembling,  uncertain  on  which 
side  her  duty  lay,  but  at  length  she  faintly  said  : 

Dear  Walter,  if  you  could  look  into  my  heart,  you 
would  not  say  that  your  love  for  me  is  deeper  or  truer 
than  mine  is  for  you.  When  I listen  to  you  I have  no 
power  to  resist  you,  so  pray  be  generous,  and  aid  me 
to  do  what  is  right.  My  word  is  pledged  to  my  fath- 
er, and  I must  not  break  it,  reproach  me  as  you  will. 
Neither  can  I bear  the  thought  of  a separation  from 
you.  It  seems  to  me  that  I shall  die  if  you  leave  me 
alone  after  this  dream  of  heaven  has  opened  to  me.” 

Yet  I must  go,  since  you  refuse  to  give  me  the 
hand  I so  ardently  covet.  My  father  is  a very  singu- 
lar and  imperious  man,  and  if  you  do  not  return  with 
me  as  my  wife,  so  great  is  his  anxiety  to  see  me  mar- 
ried, that  he  will  be  capable  of  insisting  that  I shall 


196  the  clandestine  marriage. 


give  my  hand  to  a young  girl  he  has  long  been  most 
anxious  for  me  to  marry.  Of  course  I shall  resist  his 
commands,  but  in  doing  so  I shall  disobey  him  as 
much  as  you  will  your  father  if  you  marry  me  clan- 
destinely.” 

Claire  did  not  see  the  sophistry  of  this  argument. 
She  tremulously  said : 

‘‘  Your  father  must  indeed  be  a very  strange  person 
to  require  such  submission,  when  he  knows  that  you 
are  attached  to  me.  Have  pity  on  me,  Walter — do 
not  urge  me  any  more,  for  I dare  not  wound  my  poor 
old  father  by  acting  as  you  wish.  He  is  not  strong, 
and — and  I do  not  know  what  the  result  might  be.” 

Thorne  saw  how  much  excited  she  was — how  weak 
in  her  resistance — and  he  triumphantly  thought  that  a 
few  more  efforts  would  bring  her  to  the  terms  he  had 
dictated. 

At  that  crisis  voices  were  heard  issuing  from  the 
portico,  and  Father  Jerome  came  out  with  Mrs.  Court- 
nay,  followed  by  Lapierre.  Before  entering  her  car- 
riage, Mrs.  Courtnay  took  leave  of  Claire,  and  said : 

Come  to  me  to-morrow,  my  love,  for  I have  much 
to  say  to  you.  Father  Jerome  will  talk  seriously  to 
Mr.  Thorne,  and  I hope  he  will  ratify  all  the  pledges 
he  gave  this  evening.” 

You  must  not  doubt  his  perfect  sincerity,  mamma,” 
was  the  whispered  reply  : ‘‘  for  I know  that  Walter  is 
the  soul  of  honor.” 

“ I trust  so,  my  love,  for  your  sake.  Now  bid  Father 
Jerome  good  night,  for  I am  going  to  take  him  away 
with  me.” 

“ I am  sorry  for  that,  but  of  course  you  have  tlie 
best  right  to  him.” 


THE  W4RXING  VERIFIED. 


197 


The  pallid  priest  placed  his  hand  upon  the  head  of 
the  young  girl,  and  gently  said : 

You  have  my  blessing,  my  child,  and  my  prayers 
for  your  happiness.  You  may  be  the  means  of  bring- 
ing back  a stray  lamb  to  the  fold,  and  Heaven  will 
reward  you  for  it  in  its  own  good  time.” 

Claire  reverently  raised  his  hand  to  her  lips  and 
deprecatingly  replied  : 

‘‘  I am  afraid,  father,  that  I have  thought  more  of 
the  earthly  happiness  of  my  betrothed  than  of  his 
eternal  welfare.” 

‘‘  But  now  we  will  think  of  both,  daughter.  I shall 
talk  with  Mr.  Thorne,  and  convince  him  that  being 
one  with  you  in  faith  will  make  him  more  completely 
one  with  you  in  affection  and  happiness.  Farewell, 
my  child,  I shall  see  you  to-morrow  at  the  Grange.” 

Thorne  found  an  opportunity  to  exchange  a few  ten- 
der words  with  his  betrothed  before  leaving,  and  in  a 
few  more  moments  the  old  Frenchman  and  his  daugh- 
ter were  left  standing  together  in  the  silent  yard. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 

A S the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels  died  away  in 
the  distance  Lapierre  said  : 

Come  with  me,  iny  darling,  for  a little  while.  I 
am*  unaccountably  depressed  by  what  has  happened 
here  this  evening  ; it  is  selfish  in  me,  but  I feel  as  if  I 
have  given  another  more  power  over  you  than  I pos- 


198 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MAREIAGE. 


sess  myself.  Sit  near  me,  Claire,  and  let  me  feel  that, 
now  your  betrothed  is  away  from  you,  you  are  all  my 
own  again.” 

He  entered  the  portico  and  threw  himself  upon  the 
wide  bench  that  was  placed  against  the  wall  ; Claire 
brought  a low  chair  from  the  house  and  nestled  down 
beside  him^  with  her  soft  hands  clasping  his.  She  ten- 
derly said : 

Dearest  papa,  I love  you  dearly  ; indeed  I do, 
though  I have  given  my  troth  to  Mr.  Thorne.  Do  not 
feel  jealous  of  the  affection  he  has  won — it  is  so  differ- 
ent from  that  I cherish  for  you.” 

Ah,  yes — so  different.  I know — I understand,  for 
I have  loved  myself ; I know  how  exacting,  how  all- 
absorbing  first  love  is.  I do  not  think  I could  bear 
the  certainty  that  another  has  taken  from  me  the 
highest  place  in  your  affections,  if  uij  life  were  to  be 
prolonged.  But  God  is  merciful,  and  he  takes  me 
from  the  trouble  that  must  have  come  at  some  time, 
though  I scarcely  looked  for  it  so  soon.” 

Oh,  papa  ! don’t  talk  so  ; I cannot  bear  it.  Why 
should  you,  of  late,  always  speak  of  death  in  connec- 
tion with  yourself?  ” 

Because  I am  an  old  man,  now,  and  the  thought 
of  the  inevitable  is  most  familiar  to  me.  But  I do  not 
wish  to  sadden  you,  Claire,  on  this  evening,  which 
should  be  so  happy  to  you.  You  have  pledged  your- 
self to  your  lover,  and  I trust  that  he  will  prove  wor- 
thy of  trust.  I shall  not  live  to  witness  your  union 
with  him  ; nay,  do  not  interrupt  me,  child ; I must 
speak  the  truth  to  you,  and  you  must  listen  to  me  with 
calmness.  I cannot  bear  any  more  excitement  this 
evening  ; my  heart  is  beating  its  funeral  march  now. 
Feet  its  rapid  pulsations.” 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


199 


He  drew  her  liand  over  his  heart,  and  with  dismay 
she  felt  the  wild  force  with  which  the  blood  was  rush- 
ing through  it.  She  faintly  asked : 

“ What  does  this  mean,  papa  ? Wliy  have  you  con- 
cealed from  me  the  suffering  you  must  long  have 
borne  ? What  is  it  ? — oh,  wnat  is  the  cause  of  this  ? ” 

Lapierre  lifted  the  hand  tenderly  and  impressively 
replied  : 

‘‘It  is  the  premonitory  warning  sent  to  all  of  my 
race  when  death  draws  near.  A little  while,  and  you 
will  be  fatherless — there — ^hush  that  cry,  and  listen  to 
me,  Claire,  for  I feel  as  if  I must  no  longer  delay 
speaking  with  you  on  the  subject  of  your  future.” 

“ Oh,  papa,  papa,  it  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  you 
talk  in  this  way.” 

“ Hush,  my  darling — don’t  unnerve  me.  What  I 
am  about  to  say  may  console  you,  even  for  my  loss. 
Until  to-night  I have  been  opposed  to  an  early  union 
with  your  lover,  but  something  Father  Jerome  said  to 
me  has  caused  me  to  take  a different  view  of  your  po- 
sition. It  may  be  better  to  have  your  marriage  over 
soon — God  knows  if  I am  right,  and  I am  so  anxious 
for  your  welfare  when  I am  removed  from  you,  that  I 
can  scarcely  judge  fairly.” 

With  a movement  of  joy,  Claire  pressed  his  hand  to 
her  lips,  but  he  checked  her  when  she  would  have 
spoken : 

“ Mrs.  Courtnay  will  oppose'an  early  marriage,  and, 
if  you  choose,  she  will  take  you  with  her  to  France 
and  perform  a mother’s  duty  by  you.  Should  you 
elect  to  go  with  her,  seek  your  brother — ^bear  him  my 
forgiveness,  and  use  your  influence  to  make  him  a 
good  man.  Ah  ! he  was  once  the  pride  and  joy  of  my 


200  the  clandestine  marriage. 

life,  but  he  suffered  another  to  come  between  us — to 
draw  him  from  the  path  of  honor'-— but  that  is  all  past 
and  gone  now.  He  is  my  son — ^your  brother — and  I 
do  not  wish  to  keep  my  children  altogether  apart.” 

never  wish  to  see  him  or  to  hold  any  communi- 
cation with  him,”  said  Claire,  in  a faint  tone.  “He 
has  been  a neglectful  son  to  you.  After  ruining  you 
he  has  forsaken  you  through  all  these  years,  leaving 
you  to  labor  in  poverty  for  the  bread  you  ate.  Don’t 
ask  me  to  seek  him,  papa,  for  I can  never  do  it.” 

“ But  it  has  not  been  altogether  his  fault,  my  child, 
for  I have  withheld  from  him  the  knowledge  of  my  re- 
treat. Among  my  papers  will  be  found  proofs  of  the 
debt  he  owes  me,  and  to  you  he  must  repay  it.  He  is 
rich — he  was  once  liberal,  and  for  you  he  must  do 
what  I have  disdained  to  accept  for  myself.” 

“ Don’t  ask  me  to  accept  money  from  Armand,  when 
he  has  denied  it  to  your  necessities.  I could  not  take 
it  from  him.  You  make  me  wretched,  papa,  hj  talk- 
ing as  if  you  were  going  to  leave  me  forever.” 

“Not  forever,  my  darling ; beyond  the  grave  we 
shall  one  day  be  re-united,  and  that  thought  sustains 
me  now.  I will  not  press  the  subject  on  you,  Claire, 
but  hereafter,  when  you  recall  what  passed  between  us 
this  night,  you  v/ill  try  to  do  what  I wish.  I feel  very 
much  worn  out  and  depressed,  but  I am  not  worse 
than  I have  often  been  of  late.  I think  a good  night’s 
rest  will  restore  me  to  my  usual  state  ; but  I shall  die 
suddenly,  Claire,  and  I wish  to  prepare  you  for  the 
shock  ; that  is  why  I have  spoken  to-night  as  I have 
done.  But  you  need  have  little  fear  that  anything 
will  happen  to  me  yet  awhile.  I only  wish  to  say  to 
you,  that  when  I am  gone,  if  Father  Jerome  consents 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


201 


to  unite  you  with  your  lover,  in  place  of  going  to 
France,  you  may  decline  the  bounty  of  Mrs.  Courtnay, 
and  go  with  the  man  of  your  choice.” 

Claire  uttered  a low  cry  of.  mingled  pain  and  joy. 
She  said : 

Why,  papa,  after  the  words  I used  this  evening 
when  I gave  my  troth  to  Walter,  your  consent  places 
my  fate  at  his  disposal,  and  you  knoAv  how  anxious  he 
is  for  a speedy  marriage.” 

‘‘  But  my  consent  is  conditional.  While  I live  I 
will  keep  you  near  me  ; when  I am  dead  if  the  priest 
approves,  give  Mr.  Thorne  your  hand  without  any  un- 
necessary delay.” 

The  feelings  of  the  young  girl  were  divided  between 
joy  and  dread.  The  words  of  her*  father  filled  her 
heart  with  fears  for  him,  while  it  bounded  wildly  at 
the  prospect  so  unexpectedly  opened  of  an  early  union 
with  her  lover.  She  gathered  from  his  words  that 
Father  Jerome  was  in  favor  of  it,  and  deeply  she 
thanked  him,  unconscious  that  the  day  would  speedily 
come  in  which  she  would  have  bitter  cause  to  regret 
the  view  he  had  taken  of  her  position  and,  in  his  anxi- 
ety to  secure,  her  fortune,  had  irrevocably  wrecked  it. 

She  kissed  her  father,  and  said : 

I cannot  thank  you  as  I should,  papa,  for  all  your 
tender  and  undeviating  kindness  to  me.  But*  you 
have  talked  too  much  already,  and  I think  you  had 
better  try  to  repose  now.  It  is  past  your  usual  hour 
for  retiring,  and  your  voice  begins  to  fail  you.  To- 
morrow you  will  think  more  cheerfully  of  yourself, 
and  I trust  that  you  will  yet  be  spared  to  me  many 
years.” 

Perhaps  so  ; I only  wished  to  prepare  you  for  the 


202  the  clandestine  marriage. 


shock  when  it  comes,  but  I scarcely  know  what  im- 
pelled me  to  speak  on  this  subject  to-night.  I will  go 
in  now,  but,  after  I am  in  bed,  come  to  me  with  your 
guitar,  my  child,  and  sing  to  ine  some  of  the  grand  old 
anthems  you  can  render  so  effectively. 

Lapierre  arose  and  left  her  to  think  over  the  min- 
gled joy  and  sorrow  he  had  left  with  her ; and,  be- 
tween the  two  the  excited  girl  felt  as  if  she  must  be- 
come hysterical ; but  she  controlled  herself  and  seek- 
ing her  instrument,  went  into  the  simple  dormitory  in 
which  her  father  slept. 

The  moon-beams  were  streaming  through  the  open 
window,  and  Claire  sat  down  in  the  soft  light  and 
commenced  her  labor  of  love.  She  had  often  soothed 
him  to  sleep  in  \he  same  manner,  but  never  had  her 
voice  sounded  to  him  so  thrillingly  sweet  as  on  this 
night,  though  there  was  the  sound  of  tears  in  it  as  she 
gave  utterance  to  the  sublime  strains  that  floated  out 
on  the  still  air  in  all  their  solemn  beauty. 

Lapierre  lay  half  entranced  by  the  melody,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  fair  face  of  the  musician,  mentally 
praying  that  she  might  be  saved  from  all  harm — that 
the  life  which  lay  before  her  might  be  one  of  purity 
and  peace. 

Alas,  poor  father ! God  was  good  to  remove  him 
from  the  evil  to  come  ; yet,  had  a longer  lease  of  life 
been  granted  him,  he  might,  perhaps,  have  warded  off 
the  direct  part  of  the  fate  that  was  already  closing 
around  his  idolized  child. 

The  old  man  found  that  the  music  excited,  in  place 
of  calming  him  ; and  when  Claire  at  length  paused 
and  glanced  toward  the  bed  to  see  if  he  was  sleeping, 
he  said : 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


203 


“ That  will  do  for  to-night,  my  daughter.  I shall 
sleep  presently,  but  my  nerves  are  so  unstrung  that 
j^our  charming  lullaby  has  not  produced  its  usual  se- 
dative effect.  Come  aFd  kiss  me,  and  then  go  to  rest 
yourself,  for  it  is  growing  very  late.” 

Claire  came  to  his  side,  and  after  kissing  him  several 
times,  she  sat  down  on  the  chair  beside  the  bed  and  said, 
“ I am  not  tired,  papa,  and  if  I went  away  it  would 
only  be  to  think  by  myself  of  what  you  so  lately  said. 
If  you  let  me  stay  with  you  a-while  I had  rather 
be  near  you.  Give  me  5^our  hand,  and  I will  see  if  I 
cannot  magnetize  you  to  rest.” 

He  placed  his  hand  in  hers,  and  she  started  as  she 
felt  how^  cold  and  nerveless  it  felt.  She  held  it  be- 
tween her  soft  palms,  stroking  it  gentl}^ ; and  after  a 
few  moments,  the  restored  circulation  seemed  to  bring 
new  vitality  to  it.  Many  times  he  clasped  the  tender 
fingers  that  sought  to  minister  to  him,  murmuring 
blessings  upon  her,  but  gradually  he  seemed  to  sink  off 
into  a quiet  sleep ; and  softly  disengaging  her  hand, 
Claire  imprinted  a light  kiss  upon  his  wrinkled  brow, 
and  left  the  apartment. 

It  was  very  late  before  she  slept  herself  that  night — 
the  feverish  dread  of  the  doom  her  father  seemed  to 
t consider  almost  upon  him  held  in  abeyance  the  thrill 
of  joy  with  which  she  had  learned  that  his  views  with 
regard  to  her  long  separation  from  her  lover,  had  un- 
dergone a change  in  their  favor. 

She  scarcely  thought  of  Thorne  during  these  long 
hours  of  fear  and  doubt,  for  the  dread  was  in  her 
heart,  that  the  father  who  had  been  all  the  world  to 
her  for  so  many  years  might  be  snatched  from  her  at  any 
moment.  She  shuddered  as  she  remembered  his  words 


204  the  CLAISTDESTINE  MAKRIAGE. 

that  night,  and  again  began  to  feel  the  dull  thud  that 
vibrated  through  his  breast  when  she  placed  her  hand 
ipon  it.  She  knew  now  that  he  was  the  victim  of 
heart  disease,  which,  she  had  often  heard  him  declare 
:o  be  beyond  the  reach  of  medical  skill. 

Not  long  would  this  tender  father  be  spared  to  her, 
and  in  the  silence  of  the  night  Claire  vowed  to  re- 
main with  him  to  the  end,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of 
her  betrothed  to  share  with  him  the  beautiful  life 
they  had  planned  that  evening  beneath  the  quiet  stars. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  sleep  came  to  weigh 
down  her  eyelids,  and  then  she  slumbered  profoundly, 
for  she  was  young  and  weary  with  the  varied  emotions 
of  the  day  she  had  just  passed  through. 

Claire  was  usually  up  with  the  sun,  but  the  next 
morning  she  did  not  wake  till  old  Betty  came  in  with 
an  expression  of  bewildered  fright  upon  her  face,  and 
stood  beside  her  couch.  The  woman  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  sleeper’s  shoulder,  and,  in  a husky  voice, 
said : 

It’s  late.  Miss  Claire  ; you  must  get  up  to  onct 
and  come  out’n  dis,  for  suffin’s  happened.  Oh,  blesser 
Lor’  ! dat  I should  have  such  a tale  as  dis  to  tell  to  dis 
poor  motherless  chile.” 

Claire  started  up  wide  awake  at  once,  and  the  ashen 
gray  hue  of  Betty’s  face  filled  her  with  alarm.  She 
rapidly  asked  ; 

VvTiat  is  it,  mammy  ? What  can  have  happened 
to  make  you  look  so  ? You  seem  frightened  out  of 
your  wits.  It  is  very  late.  I have  overslept  myself. 
Have  you  seen  papa  this  morning  ? Though,  .of  course, 
you  have  ; he  was  not  well  k^st  night,  but  I hope  he  is 
better  to-day.” 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


205 


Claire  spoke  quickly  and  almost  at  random^  for 
something  in  tlie  old  woman’s  face  had  communicated 
to  her  mind  an  unspeakable  dread  of  what  was  to  fol- 
low. 

Yes,  he’s  better — he’s  a deal  better,  but  he  aint 
up  yet,”  said  Betty,  phtting  a strcfng  constraint  upon 
herself,  for  she  feared  the  effect  of  the  sudden  an- 
nouncement of  the  truth.  You  git  up  an’  put  on 
yer  close.  Miss  Claire,  an’  come  to  yer  breakfus  ; yer 
pa  don’t  want  his  yet  awhile.” 

Claire  sprang  out  of  her  bed,  thrust  her  feet  in  a 
pair  of  slijDpers,  and  threw  on  a dressing-robe,  as  she 
hurriedly  said : 

He  is  ill,  then.  I must  go  to  him  at  once  and  see 
what  is  the  matter.” 

As  she  attempted  to  pass  from  the  room,  the  old 
woman  threw  herself  before  her. 

Don’t  ye  go  now,  don’t  ye,  missy — ^yer  fader  don’t 
want  ye  yit.  I’s  bin  in  to  see  him,  an’  he’s — he’s ” 

She  broke  down  and,  with  a wild,  affrighted  look, 
Claire  sprang  past  her,  dashed  through  the  intervening 
apartments,  and  entered  that  of  her  father. 

M.  Lapierre  lay  Avith  his  face  turned  to  the  door  in 
the  same  attitude  in  which  she  had  left  him  on  the 
]>revious  night.  Even  the  hand  she  had  placed  upon 
his  breast  did  not  seem  to  have  been  moved  from  its 
position,  and  on  his  face  was  that  look  but  once  seen 
on  that  of  any  creature  of  mortal  mould — the  ineffable 
serenity  stamped  there  by  the  angel  of  Death  ! 

Claire  knew  the  truth  at  once — his  spirit  had  pass- 
. ed  away  as  she  glided  from  his  room  believing  that  he 
only  slumbered;  and  she  sank  half  insensible  beside 
his  inanimate  form. 


206  the  clandestine  marriage. 

But  the  pang  of  this  sudden  bereavement  again 
aroused  her  to  a full  sense  of  the  calamity  that  had 
fallen  on  her,  and  she  cried  out  in  her  anguish : 

“ He  is  gone — ^gone  away  from  me  forever,  Ah,  my 
father  is  cold — cold ! and  I left  him  to  breathe  away 
his  life  alone,  with ‘no  one  near  him,  to  receive  his  last 
sigh — oh,  I cannot  bear  it ! I cannot  bear  it ! ” 

Betty  had  followed  her  closely,  and  she  now  took 
her  in  her  arms  as  she  had  done  when  she  was  a child, 
and  soothingly  said : 

‘‘  Don’t  take  on  so,  my  lamb.  You’s  allers  bin  good 
to  him,  an’  I hearn  you  a-playing  to  him  las’  night  to 
quiet  him.  Ah,  he’s  quiet  enough  now,  poor  soul! 
but  you  mustn’t  break  your  poor  heart.  Thai — thar, 
my  pretty  I don’t  look  so  wild.  Come  wi’  mammy,  an’ 
let  her  comfort  you.” 

Claire  struggled  faintly,  but  the  old  woman  held  her 
firmly  in  her  grasp,  and  she  at  length  submitted  to  be 
borne  from  fhe  chamber  of  Death. 

When  she  again  placed  her  young  mistress  upon  her 
bed,  Betty  said  : 

‘‘  Dere,  yer  may  cry  as  much  as  yer  likes  now,  my 
precious,  but  you  must’nt  go  back  yonder.  I’s  sent 
Pluto  up  to  de  Grange  to  tell  de  mistis  what’s  happen- 
ed here,  and  somebody’ll  be  down  directly  to  ’tend  to 
things.” 

Then — then  you  have  known  it  for  some  time ! 
Why  was  I not  called  earlier  ? Oh,  mammy,  I shall 
never  forgive  myself  for  caring  for  any  one  else  more 
than  I did  for  him.  He  has  loved  me  all  his  life,  too, 
and  he  has  broken  his  heart  because  I permitted 
another  to  come  between  us.  I know  it  is  so,  and  I do 
not  deserve  ever  to  be  happy.” 


THE  WARNING  YEEIFIED. 


207 


“ Don’t  talk  dat  way,  Miss  Claire.  De  Good  Man 
has  tuck  yer  pa  from  yer,  case  He  wanted  him  up 
yonder  where  yer  ma’  has  waited  for  his  cornin’  so 
long.  Think  how  happy  dey  is  together  dis  blessed 
mornin’,  and  take  comfort  to  yer  poor  heart.  De  bless- 
ed Marster  never  sens  sorrow  widout  sendin’  help  to 
bear  it  ef  we  ax  for  it  in  de  right  way.  When  I went 
inter  de  room  o’  de  old  gemplin  dis  mornin’  an’  foun’ 
not  him  but  de  shell  he  had  lived  in  here,  I was 
mightily  scar’t ; I ’suited  wi’  my  ole  man,  an’  he  told 
me  to  let  ye  sleep  as  long  as  I could,  for  t’would  be 
hard  enough  upon  ye  when  ye  did  wake  up.  An’  I 
minded  him  an’  let  ye  alone  till  I thought  the  folks 
would  be  cornin’  down  from  de  Grange  an’  den  I wak- 
ed ye.  Now,  my  Rosebud,  put  on  yer  close  an’  fix  up 
yer  hair,  for  Father  Jerome  will  be  here  ’fore  long,  an’ 
I know  he’ll  want  to  see  you.” 

‘‘  Yes ; I must  see  him,”  said  Claire. 

And  she  mechanically  arose  and,  with  Betty’s  assist- 
ance, made  her  toilette. 

This  was  scarcely  accomplished  when  the  sound  of  a 
carriage  stopping  at  the  gate  was  heard,  and  in  a few 
more  moments  the  bereaved  girl  was  pressed  to  the 
heart  of  her  maternal  friend.  Claire  related  to  her  all 
that  had  taken  place  on  the  previous  night  after  her 
godmother  left  her,  and  after  calming  her  emotion  as 
much  as  possible,  Mrs.  Courtnay  said : 

Your  father  has  had  lately  a strong  presentiment 
of  his  approaching  fate,  but  he  did  not  expect  his  sum- 
mons to  come  so  soon.  He  talked  to  me  about  his 
death,  and  arranged  what  was  to  be  done  with  you  in 
such  an  event.  You  are  my  child  now,  Claire  ; by  the 
desire  of  your  father  I am  to  stand  in  the  place  of  a 


208  the  clandestii^^e  makriage. 

parent  to  you.  My  dear  love,  you  know  that,  as  fai 
as  1 can,  I will  be  to  you  as  tender  a protector  as  he 
was  who  has  left  us.” 

Yes,  he  told  me.  You  are  very  good,  mamma^  and 
I love  you  dearly  ; but  no  one  can  be  to  me  Avhat  my 
poor  old  father  was.  Yet  I left  him  to  die  alone — I 
slept  while  he  lay  cold  and  lifeless  so  near  me.  Ah, 
why  could  not  some  good  spirit  have  been  sent  to  warn 
me  of  his  condition,  that  I might  have  gone  to  him 
and  tried  to  save  him.” 

‘‘  My  love,  such  regrets  are  natural  to  one  so  sud- 
denly bereaved  as  you  have  been,  but  no  effort  of  yours 
could  have  arrested  the  blow.  You  could  have  done 
nothing  for  him — his  death  was  painless,  for  it  is  evi- 
dent that  he  passed  from  sleep  into  the  rest  prepared 
for  those  who  love  and  serve  God.  You  know  that 
your  father  was  a good  Christian,  and  the  thought  that 
he  is  now  with  the  spirits  of  the  blessed  made  per- 
fect should  console  you.  There,  my  child,  bow  your 
head  upon  my  breast,  and  weep  till  the  fountain  of 
your  tears  is  exhausted,  but  do  not  take  blame  to  your- 
self for  what  you  could  not  help.” 

Thus  soothing  and  caressing  the  afflicted  daughter, 
Mrs.  Courtnay  passed  an  hour,  and  she  succeeded  in 
calming  the  first  violence  of  her  grief.  Father  Jerome 
then  came  in  to  see  her,  and  the  tender  sympathy  he 
manifested  for  her — the  divine  consolation  he  offered 
for  her — at  length  quieted  the  tempest  of  remorse,  for 
Claire,  in  her  heart,  believed  that  the  events  of  the 
last  two  weeks,  had  hastened  the  fate  of  her  father. 
Thorne  came  later  in  the  day,  but  she  refused  to  see 
him,  and  he  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  gloomy  house 
of  mourning,  ana  return  to  the  Grange. 


THE  WAR^TIKG  YERIFIED. 


209 


AxTangements  were  made  for  the  funeral,  and  on  the 
second  day  after  his  decease,  Lapierre  was  laid  to  rest 
in  the  graveyard  of  the  Courtnay  family  beside  the 
yor.r.g  wife  who  had  been  waiting  there  for  him  nearly 
fif .'on  years  ! 

Vhe  old  house  was  left  to  the  care  of  Betty  and  her 
husband,  and  Claire  returned  home  with  Mrs.  Courtnay 
to  remain  with  her  as  the  child  of  her  adoption. 

In  that  interval  she  had  scarcely  seen  Thorne,  but 
he  had  daily  written  her  most  affectionate  and  sympa- 
thetic letters,  and  went  further  towards  consoling  her, 
than  all  the  tender  kindness  lavished  on  her  by  her 
god-mother  and  the  good  father.  Yet  if  Thorne’s  heart 
had  been  looked  into  Claire  would  have  found  there 
little  real  grief  for  the  loss  she  had  sustained.  Isolated 
and  lonely  as  she  now  was,  he  felt  almost  certain  that 
he  would  triumph  over  such  opposition  as  she  could 
offer  to  a clandestine  marriage,  and  he  did  not  despair 
of  bringing  over  the  priest  to  his  side. 

He  had  spared  no  efforts  to  win  golden  opinions  froni 
Father  Jerome.  He  had  professed  his  willingness  to 
be  convinced  by  his  a'rguments  in  favor  of  his  own 
church,  for  it  was  of  little  importance  to  Walter  Thorne 
to  what  sect  of  Christians  he  nominally  belonged.  To 
gam  the  desire  of  his  heart  he  would  have  become  a 
Mussulm.an  or  a Parsee  with  equal  indifference.  Claire 
was  the  deity  he  worshipped,  and  in  his  heart  was  no 
thought  of  the  sacredness  of  the  pledges  he  was  so 
ready  to  give,  provided  they  would  enable  him- to  carry 
out  his  own  views. 

On  the  day  after  Lapierre’s  decease,  he  occupied  the 
time  in  writing  replies  to  the  letters  he  had  received 
To  Wingate  he  dashed  off*  the  following  lines: 


210  the  clandestine  marriage. 


“ Happy  Y alley,  August  1, 18— 

“ Dear  Bob  : — You  have  been  true  to  me  in  oae 
sense,  and  treacherous  in  another.  In  the  name  of  all 
the  Furies,  why  did  you  betray  anything  to  the  old 
man  ? Don’t  you  know  well  enough  what  a firebrand 
he  is,  and  how  unreasonable  he  can  be  in  his  tantrums. 

‘‘I  have  a disgusting  letter  from  him,  threatening 
all  sorts  of  absurd  penalties  if  I do  not  return  home 
at  once,  and  play  the  part  of  a dutiful  son  ; a mawkish 
one  from  Agnes,  throwing  herself  fairly  at  my  head, 
and  reminding  me  that  I am  bound  to  her  in  honor. 

“After  all,  still  and  cold  as  she  seems,  she  has 
courted  me  more  than  I have  her,  and  I submitted  like 
a fool  to  have  the  net  thrown  over  me,  which  she  is 
ready  to  tighten,  till  there  will  be  no  escape  from  it. 

“ You  don’t  know  what  it  is  to  have  love  pulling 
you  one  way,  and  interest  another  ; for  it  would  be  a 
serious  thing  with  me  if  the  governor  were  to  carry 
out  his  threats,  and  really  disinherit  me.  Reading 
over  your  letter  of  remonstrance,  and  pondering  on 
his  too  plainly-expressed  intentions,  has  brought  me 
face  to  face  with  the  reality  of  the  risk  I have  been  so 
ready  to  run,  and  I am  consequently  partially  restored 
to  reason. 

“ I have  left  the  house  of  the  old  Frenchman,  and 
am  at  present  at  the  Grange,  as  the  guest  of  its  mis- 
tress, a middle-aged  lady,  with  whom  I am  not  likely 
to  fall  in  love.  So  much  for  the  prudence  of  my  course, 
“ I am  not  yet  well  enough  to  travel,  but  I shall 
leave  this  neighborhood  as  soon  as  possible,  and  com- 
plete the  tour  I sketched  out  for  myself  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  summer.  I shall  not  return  to  L till 

the  time  appointed  for  ray  marriage  approaches,  for 


THE  WARNING^  VERIFIED.  211 

neither  my  father  nor  Agnes  shall  abridge  the  few 
weeks  of  freedom  left  me.  I will  write  to  them  both, 
d set  their  fears  at  rest,  so  far  as  my  good  faith  to 
i hem  is  concerned. 

The  letters  yon  so  cleverly  forged  have  been  de- 
stroyed, so  yon  need  have  no  nneasiness  abont  them. 
1 am  mnch  obliged  to  yon  for  complying  with  my 
Avishes  with  reference  to  them ; bnt  it  was  a nseless 
tronble  so  far  as  I am  concerned.  The  yonng  girl  with 
whom  I was  so  deeply  infatnated,  is  to  go  to  France  in 
a fcAv  months  to  complete  her  education  ; so  yon  see 
that  I am  safely  ont  of  that  scrape,  serions  as  it  threat- 
ened to  be. 

Since  yon  made  mischief  with  the  old  man,  the 
best  yon  can  do  is  to  set  him  right  abont  this  affair, 
and  dissipate  the  storm  yon  have  raised.  Yon  may 
direct  yonr  reply  to  Richmond,  as  I contemplate  a visit 
there,  and  I shall  not  linger  mnch  longer  in  the  Happy 
Valley.  Yohrs,  repentingly,  W.  Thorne.” 

That  will  do,  I think,”  he  mnttered,  as  he  glanced 
over  the  lines  he  had  written.  Wingate  has  served 
my  turn,  and  now  he  mnst  have  dnst  thrown  in  his 
eyes  like  the  others.  I shall  leave  the  Happy  Valley, 
bnt  I will  take  with  me  all  that  I valne  in  it.  I will 
not  be  baffled  in  that,  come  what  will  in  the  fntnre. 
And  now  for  the  old  man.” 

Thorne  seized  his  pen  again,  and,  with  a sneer  on 
his  handsome  face,  wrote  : 

Happy  Valley,  August  1, 18—. 

My  Dear  Father  : — Yonr  strange  letter  is  before 
me,  and  I mnst  confess  that  I was  snrprised  and  hnrt 
by  its  abrupt  tenor.  T do  not  know  what  Wingate  may 


212  the  clandestine  marriage. 

ha\  e told  you  to  put  you  in  so  violent  a passion,  but 
whatever  it  was  can  be  readily  explained  by  me. 

I met  with  an  accident  that  came  near  being  fatal, 
and  was  ill  in  consequence  of  it.  I was  received  in  the 
house  of  an  old  French  emigre,  and  his  daughter,  a 
mere  child,  but  a very  pretty  one,  was  my  nurse.  I 
was  very  grateful  to  ‘lier  ; but  the  rhapsody  I wrote  to 
Bob  must  have  been  penned  under  the  influence  of 
partial  delirium.  I have  not  now  the  slightest  recol- 
lection of  what  I said,  but,  of  course,  it  was  wretched 
nonsense. 

‘‘‘  I was  so  unfortunate  it  seems  as  to  mislead  Win- 
gate as  to  the  warmth  of  my  feelings  toward  this 
young  girl  ; and  when  your  letter  came  I felt  that  I 
had  been  very  foolish  to  write  to  him  as  I did. 

‘‘  You  need  have  no  uneasiness  concerning  me,  for 
I have  left  the  old  man’s  ruinous  abode,  and  am  now 
the  guest  of  a middle-aged  lady,  whose  penchant  for 
art  induced  her  to  offer  me  her  hospitality.  As  soon 
as  I have  regained  my  strength  sufficiently  to  resume 
my  wanderings,  I shall  leave  the  valley,  and  complete 
the  tour  I planned  before  setting  out  from  hdme  ; so 
you  need  not  look  for  me  back  before  the  time  agreed 
on. 

“ 1 can  easily  make  all  straight  with  Agnes,  who,  by 
the  way,  has  counselled  me  to  pay  my  kind  entertain- 
ers lii)erally.  I am  most  anxious  to  take  her  advice, 
iuid  I beg  that  you  will  send  me  a handsome  remit- 
tance for  that  purpose.  Having  thus  discharged  my 
debt,  I will  shake  the  dust  of  the  valley  from  my  feet, 
and  go  upon  my  way.  Your  affectionate  son, 

“ Walter  Thorne.” 

“And  now  for  my  last  and  most  difficult  task,”  be 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


213 


thought.  How  am  I to  set  the  jealous  fears  of 
Agnes  at  rest,  and  at  the  same  time  not  infernally 
commit  myself.  I do  not  know  that  sho  would  use 
my  letter  against  me  ; but  she  might,  and  I should  be 
in  a pretty  scrape.  She  is  not  a woman  to  be  slighted 
and  thrown  off  with  impunity ; but  her  pride  will 
surely  prevent  her  from  suing  me  for  breach  of  prom- 
ise. I must  be  lover-like,  or  her  jealousy  will  blaze  up, 
and  spoil  my  game  at  the  outset.  I know  that  I am 
getting  into  an  awful  mess ; but  I’ll  risk  being  blown 
sky-high  to  gain  such  a dainty,  darling,  little  Rosebud 
as  the  one  I have  found  here.  When  it  is  done,  and 
she  is  mine  beyond  recal,  those  who  have  lured  me 
into  this  other  entanglement  may  make  the  best  of  it.” 

In  spite  of  his  lightness  of  nature,  and  lack  of  truth, 
Walter  Thorne  shrank  from  the  task  before  him. 
With  a face  strongly  expressive  of  disgust,  he  wrote : 

Happy  Valley,  Aug.  1, 18—. 

‘‘  My  Dearest  Agnes  : — Your  letter,  containing 
so  much  that  is  soothing  to  my  heart,  and  also  much 
that  is  bitter  to  my  pride,  came  safel}^  to  hand,  and  I 
need  not  tell  5^ou  with  what  eagerness  it  was  read — 
with  Avhat  interest  each  sentence  written  by  your  hand 
was  dwelt  on. 

‘‘  My  dear  girl,  I was  sorry  to  see  what  influence 
Wingate’s  nonsense  had  with  you.  He  does  not  al- 
ways stop  to  consider  the  effect  his  words  may  have, 
and  he  often  jumps  to  conclusions  that  facts  will  not 
justify. 

“ I should  have  written  to  you,  in  place  of  to  him, 
and  told  you  of  the  accident  that  had  happened  to 
me,  but  I was  suffering  from  fever,  and  my  mind  was 
not  clear  enough  to  venture  on  doing  so.  I must  have 


214  the  clandestine  marriage. 


sent  him  a precious  lot  of  nonsense,  which  he  should 
have  kept  to  himself,  and  I was  surprised  to  find  that 
he  had  not  done  so. 

I had  a narrow  escape  from  drowning  the  day  I 
entered  this  enchanting  valley,  and  the  drenching  1 
got  made  me  quite  ill.  I have  been  nursed  by  good 
Samaritans,  to  whom  I am  very  grateful,  and  one  of 
them,  as  you  have  been  informed,  was  a young  girl  of 
whom  you  condescend  to  be  jealous, 

“ My  dear  Agnes,  if  you  could  see  what  a mere 
child  she  is,  how  unformed  and  ignorant  of  the  world 
and  its  ways,  you  would  lay  aside  all  fears  as  to  my 
constancy  to  yourself. 

‘‘  You  will  be  convinced  how  unfounded  they  are 
when  I cell  you  I have  left  her  father’s  humble  home 
and  am  now  the  guest  of  Mrs.  Courtnay,  a wealthy 
widow,  with  a grown-up  son,  who  has  ‘kindly  invited 
me  to  remain  in  her  house  till  my  convalescence  is 
complete. 

‘‘It  is  not,  however,  my  intention  to  linger  here 
much  longer,  for  I wish  to  continue  the  tour  this  acci- 
dent has  interrupted,  and  I shall  bring  you  back  some 
charming  sketches  of  the  scenery  I have  passed 
through.  I asked  for  three  months  of  perfect  freedom, 
mid  it  was  granted  by  yourself  and  my  father,  and  I 
shall  hold  you  both  do  your  agreement. 

“ After  my  marriage  I can  scarcely  take  so  wild  and 
scrambling  a tour,  as  this  has  been,  for  you  would  ex- 
pect me  to  settle  down  and  play  the  part  of  a dutiful 
Benedict,  so  pray  do  not  seek  to  abridge  the  few 
weeks  I can  devote  to  my  art  witli  a clear  conscience. 

“1^3^  the  fifteenth  of  October  I shall  make  my  ap- 
pearance in  L , ready  to  complete  the  most  iinpor* 


THE  WARNING  VERIFIED. 


215 


tant  event  iji  my  life.  Till  then,  adieu,  dear  Agnes, 
and  cease  to  torment  yourself  with  jealous  fears  con- 
cerning me.  I am  a man  who  cannot  be  chained 
down  by  conventional  rules,  and  I should  only  recoil 
from  those  who  attempted  to  control  my  freedom  of 
action.  At  the  time  mentioned  you  will  see  me  in 
L , and  my  destiii}^  will  then  be  settled. 

Yours  truly,  W.  Thorne.” 

With  a clouded  biow  and  compressed  lips  Thorne 
read  over  what  he  had  written,  and  muttered  : 

It  is  the  best  I can  do,  but  it  is  unsatisfactory.  It 
commits  me  decidedly,  yet  it  will  not  entirely  reassure 
that  jealous  and  exacting  girl.  I escaped  from  her  be- 
cause I knew  she'd  tie  me  to  her  apron-string,  and  ex- 
pect me  to  play  the  part  of  a puling,  love-sick  fool. 
Heigho  ! I begin  to  think  I had  better  have  done 
that  than  have  come  here  to  risk  all  my  prospects  in 
life,  for  the  sake  of  a bewitching  little  angel,  without 
a shilling  of  her  own. 

“ I wish  I could  break  away  from  Rose  and  do  the 
honorable  by  Agnes,  but  that  is  impossible.  The  die 
is  cast  by  the  old  man’s  death,  and  if  my  charmer  will 
consent  to  go  with  me,  I will  risk  everything  for  her 
possession.  If  she  refuses,  why  then  I'll  go  back  and 
sacrifice  mj^self  upon  the  altar  of  Mammon,  to  please 
the  governor.” 

Thus  ruminating,  Thorne  closed  and  addressed  his 
letters,  and  then  busied  himself  upon  a picture  he  was 
painting. 

A picturesque  ruin,  with  its  ivy-crowned  walls, 
stood  in  the  background,  with  a narrow  stream, 
spanned  by  a rustic  bridge  in  front.  On  its  margin 


216  the  clandestine  marriage. 


stood  a young  girl,  holding  a spray  of  roses  in  her 
hand  : Claire,  in  all  her  budding  beauty,  looked  out 
from  the  canvas,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay,  for  whom  it  was 
designed  as  a parting  present,  had  declared  the  like- 
ness perfect. 

If  he  stole  from  her  the  child  of  her  adoption,  the 
artist  thought  it  would  be  but  a fair  exchange  to  give 
her  the  shadow  for  the  substance,  and  he  worked  on 
with  smiling  lips  and  love-lit  eyes. 

As  the  fair  features  glowed  into  life  beneath  his 
touch,  the  soft  clear  eyes  looked  into  his  own,  he 
thought  only  of  Claire  and  the  means  of  winning  her 
consent  to  a secret  union,  for  he  felt  assured  that  Mrs. 
Courtnay  would  not  forego  her  own  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture welfare  of  her  ward. 

Now  or  never  must  he  win  her,  and  in  his  egotistic 
selfishness  he  refused  to  listen  to  such  doubts  as  sug- 
gested themselves  as  to  how  the  object  of  his  headlong 
passion  might  fare  when  he  became  the  master  of  her 
fate.  What  was  he  preparing  for  her,  for  himself,  in 
the  future  ? He  could  not  answer  that  question  satis- 
factoril}^  so  he  ignored  it  altogether,  and  only  planned 
for  the  immediate  gratification  of  the  wish  he  had  most 
at  heart — to  make  this  trusting  child  irrevocabW  kis 
own. 

Thorne  believed  that  he  could  win  over  Father  Je- 
rome so  completely  that  he  would  not  refuse  to  pro- 
nounce the  blessing  of  the  church  over  them,  even 
without  the  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Courtnay.  He  was 
aware  that  the  priest  disapproved  of  long  engagements, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  he  was  anxious  to  secure  so  good 
a match  as  he  believed  himself  to  be  for  the  daughter 
of  his  old  friend.  So  he  doubted  not  that  he  should 
eventually  succeed  in  his  plans. 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER. 


217 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER. 

FTER  a few  days  Claire  began  to  recover  from  the 


first  stunning  effects  of  the  blow  that  had  fallen 
upon  her ; but  she  was  still  so  deeply  depressed  that 
Mrs.  Courtnay  was  alarmed  for  her  health.  She  ap- 
peared so  languid  and  hopeless  that  nothing  seemed  to 
interest  her  ; but,  at  length,  her  kind  friend  induced 
her  to  leave  her  room,  and,  with  some  reluctance  call- 
ed on  Thorne  to  aid  her  in  bringing  back  some  portion 
of  the  young  girl’s  former  fire  and  animation. 

At  first  he  found  even  this  a difficult  task,  but  grad 
ually  the  magnetic  power  he  wielded  over  her  made 
itself  felt,  and  under  its  influence  the  color  returned 
to  her  cheeks,  the  light  to  her  dimmed  eyes. 

For  a few  days  Claire  thought  of  her  love  for  Wal- 
ter Thorne  almost  with  terror,  for  she  believed  it  was 
the  knowledge  of  that  which  had  struck  a death-blow 
to  her  old  father’s  heart.  It  was  true  that  Lapierre 
might  have  died  any  day,  but  she  knew  that,  if  agita- 
tion had  been  spared  him,  he  might  have  lived  on  for 
months  or  years  to  come. 

But,  as  the  days  passed  on,  that  remorseful  thought 
grew  dim,  and  soon  it  almost  ceased  to  grieve  her,  un- 
der the  renewed  infatuation  that  filled  her  whole  being 
to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  feeling.  In  the  wide 
world  Claire  saw  but  one  refuge  for  her — and  that  was 
in  the  love  of  this  man  who  so  tenderly  wooed  her  to 
his  heart. 

Her  father  had  repented  of  his  opposition  to  an  early 


•218 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


anion,  and  now  no  one  should  stand  between  them — no, 
not  even  the  maternal  friend  who  was  so  anxious  to 
save  her  from  a too  precipitate  marriage. 

Thorne  saw  her  revive  under  his  skillful  charming 
— saw  the  light  of  home  and  love  relume  in  her  lovely 
eyes— the  pale  cheeks  again  kindle  into  bloom  beneath 
his  ardent  glances — and  one  evening  when  he  stood 
lAone  with  his  hostess  on  the  piazza,  he  said  to  her : 

You  can  see  for  yourself.  Madam,  that  your  young 
charge  must  go  with  me.  She  will  droop  and  fade  away 
on  your  hands,  if  you  insist  on  sending  me  away  from 
lier.  It  would  be  a cruel  experiment  to  attempt  such  a 
thing.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  coldly  replied  : 

‘‘  Yet,  it  is  one  I must  make,  Mr.  Thorne.  I stand 
in  the  place  of  a mother  to  this  poor  girl,  and  I must 
do  by  her  as  I would  by  my  own  daughter.  I shall 
not  remain  here  after  you  go  away.  Father  Jerome 
needs  better  medical  advice  than  the  valley  affords, 
ior  I begin  to  perceive  a failure  in  his  mind  that  alarms 
me.  I am  afraid  it  is  softening  of  the  brain,  brought 
on  by  overwork,  from  which  he  is  suffering.  Claire 
needs  change  too,  and  I think  I shall  spend  the  fall 
and  winter  in  Baltimore.  I shall  place  both  her  and 
Julia  in  a good  boarding  school  till  my  son  is  free  tc 
accompany  me  to  Europe.” 

This  is  something  quite  new  to  me,  Madam.  What 
does  the  priest  say  to  your  plan  for  his  benefit  ? I have 
myself  remarked  what  you  speak  of,  and  I think  his 
mind  is  certainly  losing  its  balance.” 

Father  Jerome  approves  it,  and  he  will  take  up 
his  abode  with  a brother  of  his  order,  who  is  an  inti- 
mate 1‘riend  ; but  I own  that  I have  many  doubts  as  to 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER.  219 

his  ultimate  recovery.  He  should  be  placed  under 
treatment  as  soon  as  possible.” 

A cloud  settled  on  the  face  of  the  listener,  and  he 
curtly  said : 

“ If  my  presence  here  is  any  drawback  to  the  carry- 
ing out  of  your  wishes,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  I will  make 
arrangements  to  leave  immediately.  I regret  that  I 
have  not  been  earlier  informed  of  them,  for  I should 
be  sorry  to  becbme  de  trop  in  your  house.” 

Nor  have  you  been,  Mr. ‘Thorne.  I invited  you 
hither  of  my  own  free  will,  and  I have  enjoyed  your 
society  much  ; but  I cannot  shut  my  eyes  to  the  neces- 
sity of  removing  Claire  from' your  presence  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  greater  your  power  over  her,  the 
stronger  seems  the  need  of  placing  her  where  you  can- 
not be  daily  and  hourly  near  her.  Her  spirits  have  in 
a measure  recovered  their  tone,  and  she  is  now  able 
to  bear  the  separation  from  you.  She  will  be  permit- 
ted to  correspond  with  you  regularly,  for  I do  not 
forget  that  her  father  sanctioned  the  engagement 
between  you.  But  you  must  pledge  me  your  word 
not  to  seek  her  after  we  remove  to  Baltimore,  till  we 
are  on  the  eve  of  embarking  for  Europe.” 

By  Heaven  ! Madam,  this  is  asking  too  much  of 
me.  I cannot  consent  to  an  arrangement  that  will 
separate  my  betrothed  from  me  and  place  her  under  the 
control  of  a set  of  teachers  who  would  regard  the  very 
fact  of  our  engagement  with  a species  of  horror.  It 
will  be  too  severe  an  ordeal  for  Claire  to  pass  through, 
for  she  is  not  strong,  and — and  she  only  lives  in  my 
presence.  You  can  see  that  for  j^ourself.  Madam.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  steadily  replied  : 

“ I have  seen  with  regret  how  utterly  her  will  is 


220  the  clandestine  markiage. 


dominated  by  yours,  and  that  is  why  I must  remove 
her  from  your  influence.  It  is  a duty  I owe  to  her. 
New  friends  and  new  scenes  will  gradually  restore  her 
to  her  natural  condition,  and  she  will  learn  to  love  you 
reasonably  without  bending  before  you  as  if  you  were 
an  ideal  incarnation  of  perfection.  Such  love  as  that 
does  not  bring  happiness  to  the  woman  who  cherishes 
it,  nor  yet  to  him  on  whom  it  is  bestowed.  Claire, 
like  all  girls  of  her  age,  is  full  of  romantic  nonsense  ; 
but,  if  she  were  permitted  to  marry  you  now,  the  real 
man  would  fall  so  far  below  the  ideal  she  has  formed 
of  you  that  a fatal  reaction  in  her  feelings  might  take 
place.  I have  known  girls  to  marry  under  such  hal- 
lucinations, and  end  by  heartily  wishing  that  Fate  had 
severed  them  from  the  object  of  their  choice  before  the 
Church  had  irrevocably  bound  them  to  a destiny  that 
proved  far  from  happy.” 

And  you  think  it  possible  that  such  a change  could 
take  place  in  the  heart  of  the  girl  I adore  ? ” exclaim- 
ed the  lover,  with  much  heat. 

With  irritating  calmness,  Mrs.  Courtnay  replied : 

‘‘I  am  only  discussing  possibilities,  Mr.  Thorne.  I 
believe  that  you  and  Claire  are  ardently  attached  to 
each  other,  and  I think  you  would  try  to  make  her 
happy  in  your  own  way.  But  she  is  too  unformed 
— too  much  of  a child  yet — to  risk  taking  on  herself 
the  duties  of  a wife  and  mistress  of  a family.  It  was 
but  the  other  day  that  she  was  chasing  butterflies  with 
Julia,  as  much  a child  in  heart  as  she  is.  Indeed,  you 
must  consent  to  give  her  up  to  me  as  has  already  been 
settled  ; and  I wish  you  to  understand  that  I will 
not  recede  from  that.  I love  Claire  almost  as  if  she 
were  my  own  daughter,  and  she  has  no  one  but  me  to 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOYER. 


221 


look  to  in  this  crisis  of  her  destin}^  I shall  be  ready 
and  \yilling  to  surrender  her  to  you  Avhen  the  proper 
time  arrives,  and  I think  that  is  as  much  as  you  can 
reasonably  expect  of  me.” 

Thorne  controlled  his  annoyance,  and  with  a faint 
smile,  replied  : 

But  I am  not  reasonable,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  nor  do  I 
suppose  you  expect  a man  as  much  in  love  as  I am  to 
be  so.  I must  yield  to  your  authority,  I suppose,  but 
you  will  not  banish  me  before  your  plans  are  quite  set- 
tled. You  will  let  me  bask  yet  a little  while  in  the 
sunshine  of  my  darling’s  reviving  spirits,  for  it  will 
not  be  well  for  her  to  be  too  suddenly  separated  from 
me.” 

‘‘  I have  no  wish  to  send  you  into  exile,  Mr.  Thorne, 
till  the  time  for  my  own  departure  draws  near.  I shall 
be  happy  to  claim  you  as  my  guest  for  the  next  three 
weeks.  That  will  bring  the  middle  of  September,  and 
that  will  be  soon  enough  to  settle  ourselves  for  the 
autumn  and  winter.” 

‘‘  Thank  you  for  conceding  so  much ; and  now  I 
will  seek  Claire,  and  tell  her  what  you  have  determin- 
ed on.  Have  you  spoken  of  your  removal  to  her.” 

“Not  yet.  If  you  choose,  you  can  repeat  to  her 
what  I have  just  said.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  left  him,  and  went  to  her  own  apart- 
ment, where  she  found  Julia  playing  with  a pet  kitten. 

She  detained  her  child  near  her  that  the  lovers 
might  have  an  uninterrupted  interview,  never  dreaming 
that  Thorne  would  abuse  her  indulgence  by  tempting 
the  yielding  and  loving  Claire  to  abjure  her  authority 
and  even  win  her  consent  to  deceive  ’ the  only  true 
friend  she  possessed. 


909 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


Thorne  found  the  object  of  his  search  in  the  library, 
lying  listlessly  upon  a sofa  drawn  near  an  open  win- 
dow. She  Avas  paler  than  usual,  and  the  deep  black 
in  Avhich  she  was  robed,  the  sad  composure  of  her  face 
seemed  to  have  added  several  years  to  her  age.  Claire 
looked  up  as  she  heard  his  step,  and  light  came  back 
to  her  dark  eyes,  smiles  to  her  sad  lips.  She  sat  up 
and  arranged  her  dress,  and  Thorne  placed  himself  be- 
side her.  He  tenderly  said  : 

“You  are  almost  yourself  again,  petite.  I have 
been  very  unhappy  about  you,  but  your  old  animation 
seems  to  be  coming  back,  I am  glad  to  see.  But  tell 
me,  love,  would  you  not  fade  and  droop  again  if  my 
presence  were  withdraAvn  from  you  ? I am  vain  enough 
10  think  so.” 

She  regarded  him  with  a half  frightened  expression, 

“ You  have  not  come  to  tell  me  that  you  must  go 
away?  Oh,  Walter,  how  can  I bear  to  lose  sight  of 
your  dear  face  now  he  is  gone  ? You  Avill  not,  you 
cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  desert  me  when  I am  almost 
your ” 

The  word  died  on  her  lips,  but  he  drew  her  to  his 
heart  and  Avhispered : 

“ Almost  my  wife — ^yes  ; but  not  quite,  my  angel. 
Only  consent  to  become  such,  and  no  one  shall  stand 
between  us.  No  one.,  Claire,  for  the  right  to  claim  you 
is  mine.  Mrs.  Courtnay  is  3^our  friend,  and  she  wishes 
to  do  what  she  thinks  right,  but  she  is  planning  to  take 
you  from  me  ; to  carry  you  to  Baltimore  and  place  j^ou 
in  a boarding-school  till  she  sets  out  on  her  foreign 
tour.  You  will  be  shut  up  with  stupid  people,  who 
will  have  no  sympathy  for  you.  They  will  exact  dif- 
ficult tasks  from  you,  Avhen  you  might  be  with  me  so 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER. 


223 


happy,  so ^idored.  Oh  ! my  love — my  sv/eet  love,  only 
listen  to  i^y  prayer,  and  I will  remove  you  from  her 
control.  I will  devote  myself  to  your  happiness.” 

Are  you  quite  certain  of  this,  Walter  ? ” she  ask- 
ed, in  a faint  voice. 

Quite — for  Mrs.  Courtnay  told  me  herself,  and  al- 
lowed me  to  seek  you  and  break  her  intentions  to  you. 
Dear  Claire,  I shall  be  wretched  without  you,  and  of 
what  value  will  be  accomplishments  purchased  at  such 
cost  to  us  both  ? After  we  are  married,  you  shall  have 
masters  if  you  wish  it ; but  if  we  take  our  fate  in  our 
own  hands,  it  must  be  without  the  knowledge  of  your 
protectress.  She  has  no  legal  claim  on  you,  yet  she 
is  firm  in  her  determination  to  withhold  you  from  me 
for  years  to  come.” 

Claire  raised  her  head  and  after  a pause  said 

Walter,  it  is  right  that  I should  tell  you  what  papa 
said  to  me  the  night  he  left  me  forever.  He  seemed 
to  have  changed  his  mind  with  reference  to  our  marri- 
age, and  he  said  it  might  be  best  for  us  to  be  united 
vnthout  delay.  If  he  had  lived  I think  he  would  have 
consented  to  give  me  to  you  before  you  left  the  valley.” 

The  lover  listened  to  this  revelation  in  delighted 
surprise  : 

‘‘  If  that  is  so,  Claire,  you  cannot  hesitate  to  do  as  I 
wish.  The  blessing  of  your  dead  father  will  be  upon 
us,  and  we  can  dispense  with  the  consent  of  Mrs. 
Courtnay.” 

“ But  I owe  a great  deal  to  mamma.  She  has  been 
very  kind  to  me  throughout  all  my  life.” 

“ True,  love  ; but  your  first  duty  is  to  me.  Every- 
thing depends  on  our  immediate  union,  Claire.  My 
father  will  withdraw  his  consent,  I am  almost  certain, 


•22-1  t|:ie  clandestine  marriage. 

if  I do  not  bring  him  his  new  daughter  when  I return 
iiome.  Only  consent  to  a clandestine  marriage,  and 
j^our  friend  will  forgive  and  receive  you  again  when  it 
is  over.  Oh,  darling,  if  I lose  you  I shall  be  the  most 

retched  of  men.” 

She  softly  said  : 

“ And  I the  most  desolate  of  creatures  separated 
from  you  ; taken  from  the  scenes  I love  and  thrust 
among  strangers.  I could  not  live  through  such  an 
ordeal,  I know  I could  not.” 

‘‘  Such  is  also  my  conviction,  and  I said  as  much  to 
Mrs.  Courtnay,  but  she  insists  that  you  will  find  change 
of  scene  all  that  is  necessary  to  restore  your  health  and 
spirits.  An  exhilarating  change  she  proposes ! She 
will  remove  you  from  the  freedom  of  your  country 
life,  and  shut  you  up  in  stuffy  rooms,  with  books  for 
your  companions,  the  drudgery  of  study  your  only  oc- 
cupation. Contrast  that  with  what  I offer  you,  Claire, 
;md  make  your  decision.” 

Thorne  could  scarcely  have  conjured  up  a more  re- 
pulsive picture  before  the  mind  of  the  thoughtless 
creature  who  listened  to  him.  She  had  never  been 
compelled  to  acquire  anything ; the  lessons  set  for  her 
by  her  indulgent  father  had  been  learned  or  neglected, 
as  suited  her  own  fancy,  and  but  for  the  quick  percep- 
tions  and  retentive  memory  with  which  nature  had 
endowed  her,  Claire  would  have  acquired  very  little. 

But  these  had  enabled  her,  in  a desultory  way,  to 
gain  as  much  cultivation  as  girls  of  her  age  usually 
possess,  and  the  libraiy  at  the  Grange  had  afforded  her 
a wide  range  of  literary  reading  of  which  she  had 
eagerly  availed  herself. 

After  a pause  of  some  length  she  said : 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER.  225 

Have  you  consulted  with  Father  Jerome  on  this 
subject?” 

Yes— and  I have  nearly  brought  him  over  to  oui 
side.  He  thinks  it  best  for  our  union  to  take  place 
before  I leave  tlTe  valley,  and  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Court- 
nay’s  opposition,  I believe  I can  induce  him  to  unite 
iis.” 

Claire  vaguely  said : 

Father  Jerome  is  a good  man,  and  I can  abide  by 
his  decision  without  fear.  In  fact,  I have  my  father’s 
permission  to  do  so.” 

Then  if  I bring  you  the  assurance  that  he  con- 
sents, you  will  not  refuse  to  give  me  the  right  to  call 
you  my  own  ? My  precious  love,  that  is  all  I ask,  for 
1 am  certain  of  success  with  the  priest.” 

Claire  shrank  from  pledging  herself  so  far ; she  tim- 
idly said  : 

‘‘  I wish  I knew  what  is  right — what  will  be  best 
for  us  both.  I have  heard  it  said  that  clandestine  mar- 
riages are  rarely  fortunate,  and  I — I must  give  up  my 
only  frit^nd  to  go  with  you,  Walter.  I shall  be  so 
utterly  dependent  on  you  for  everything.” 

“ And  that  is  just  as  it  should  be,  my  angel.  The 
wife  should  look  only  to  her  husband  for  protection 
and  support,  and  you  shall  find  that  you  have  lost 
nothing  by  the  exchange  I wish  you  to  make.  Besides, 
Ml'S.  Courtnay  will  forgive  you,  and  be  as  fond  of  you 
as  ever,  after  your  fate  is  irrevocably  fixed.” 

Ah,  if  I thought  that,  I would  not  hesitate.  And 
you  are  quite  sure  that  your  father  wishes  you  to  be 
married  without  delay  ? ” 

I wish  I were  as  sure  of  everything  else  as  I am 
of  that,”  replied  Thorne,  laughing.  The  old  man  ia 
U 


226 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


terribly  in  earnest  about  putting  the  noose  matrimo- 
nial upon  his  only  son.  He  wants  a mistress  at  Thorn- 
hil],  and  the  gay  company  young  people  will  be  sure 
to  draw  around  him.” 

Claire's  face  brightened. 

Then  I may  feel  certain  of  a kind  welcome  from 
him.  I like  the  thought  of  presiding  over  his  house 
much  better  than  being  shut  up  in  a stifling  school- 
room, poring  over  difficult  tasks.  I hope  that  I shall 
be  able  to  make  your  father  love  me  dearly,  Walter.  I 
sliall  try,  at  any  rate,  to  brighten  his  life  and  reflect 
on  him  a portion  of  our  happiness.” 

Thorne  could  scarcely  repress  a shiver  as  he  thought 
of  the  reality  that  probably  awaited  her,  but  he  stifled 
the  faint  feeling  of  remorse,  and  rapturously  ex- 
claimed : 

Then  you  ivill  go  with  me,  darling  of  my  life  ? ” 

And  he  snatched  her  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her 
many  times. 

Claire  extricated  herself  from  his  embrace,  and  trem- 
ulously said  : 

Give  me  till  to-morrow  to  think  over  what  you 
have  said.  I must  know  what  Father  Jerome  thinks 
of  such  a step  before  I irrevocably  consent.  It  seems 
very  wrong  for  me  to  deceive  so  good  a friend  as 
mamma  has  always  been  to  me,  and  she  will  think  very 
hardly  of  us  when  she  finds  that  we  have  betrayed  her 
confidence.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  will  forgive  us,  love.  She  has  no 
legal  authority  over  you,  for  she  has  not  been  ap- 
pointed your  guardian.  Young  as  you  are,  you  are 
quite  free  to  act  for  yourself;  if  you  refuse  to  avail 
yourself  of  your  position,  and  do  as  I wish,  I 


GUARDIAN  AGAINST  LOVER. 


227 


leave  you  at  ouce.  T will  no  longer  linger  here,  mad- 
dening myself  the  sight  of  that  which  I cannot 
hope  to  attain.  T give  you  your  choice,  Claire,  be- 
tween a secret  union  with  myself  or  a speedy  parting. 

I am  willing  to  allow  you  the  time  to  decide  on  one 
‘ r the  other.” 

She  raised  her  humid  eyes  to  his  face  with  an  ex- 
] ression  of  pathetic  entreaty  in  them,  but  the  words  • 
she  was  about  to  utter  died  on  her  lips  as  Mrs.  Court- 
nay  entered  the  library. 

Thorne  removed  himself  further  away  from  his  be- 
trothed. Claire  flushed  deeply  and  then  became  pale 
as  death.  Her  friend  remarked  her  agitation,  and 
gently  said  as  she  seated  herself  : 

“ Mr.  Thorne  has  communicated  to  you  my  plans  by 
this  time,  my  dear,  and  I hope  you  approve  of  them. 
My  most  earnest  wish  is  to  do  what  is  best  for  you, 
Claire,  for  you  are  a precious  legacy  to  me  from  your 
father.” 

“ I believe  I understand  that,  mamma,  and  I am  most 
grateful  for  all  your  kindness  ; but — ^but  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  T do  not  like  being  sent  to  a boarding-school. 
You  know  that  I have  never  been  used  to  confinement, 
nor  to  wearisome  tasks.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  smiled  faintly  as  she  replied : 

T know  that  you  have  never  yet  been  disciplined 
into  obedience  to  the  requirements  of  life  ; but  it  is  ne- 
(M.‘ssary  to  your  future  well-being  that  you  shall  submit 
}'ourself  to  it.  At  first  you  may  feel  as  a wild  bird 
suddenly  caged,  but  you  are  too  rational  and  gentle  a 
creature,  to  dash  yourself  as  he  does,  against  your  pii* 
son  bars.  T must  do  my  duty  by  you,  Claire,  and  you 
will  yet  acknowledge  that  I am  right.  Your  father’s 


228  the  clandestine  marriage. 

wishes  should  have  much  weight  with  you  too  ; and 
you  know  that  I am  to  control  your  destiny  till  you 
are  of  an  age  to  leave  my  guiding  hand  with  safety.” 

But  he  talked  with  me  the  night  he  died,  and  he 
then  spoke  as  if  he  had  changed  his  mind  as  to — as  to 
my  marriage  with  Walter.  His  words  gave  me  free- 
dom to  act  for  myself ; and  I think  papa’s  consent  to 
an  immediate  union  gives  Mr.  Thorne  the  right  to  de- 
man the  fulfilment  of  the  pledge  I gave  him  when  we 
were  betrothed.” 

Mrs.  Courtenay  looked  much  annoyed  and  more  sur- 
prised at  this  bold  assertion  from  the  lips  of  her  adopted 
child.  She  coldly  said : 

You  must  have  misunderstood  him,  Claire,  for  M. 
Lapierre  expressed  himself  very  differently  to  me.  At 
all  events,  I shall  use  my  own  judgment  as  to  what  is 
best  for  such  a mere  child  as  you  are  ; and  I scarcely 
think  Mr.  Thorne  will  set  up  his  claims  in  opposition 
to  mine.  If  he  loves  you  as  he  should,  he  will  see 
that  I am  only  actuated  by  the  tenderest  affection  for 
you  in  what  I have  planned  for  you.” 

She  looked  towards  Thorne,  but  he  attempted  no  re- 
ply ; he  had  risen,  and  was  standing  beside  the  win- 
dow, impatiently  drumming  upon  the  frame.  Mrs. 
Courtnay  bit  her  lip,  and  said  : 

Come  with  me  to  my  room,  Claire  ; I wish  to  talk 
seriously  with  you,  with  no  disturbing  influence  near 
us.  Excuse  us,  Mr.  Thorne.  We  will  leave  you  to 
the  companionship  of  books,  while  I reason  with  this 
untamed  spirit,  and  try  to  show  her  what  will  be  for 
her  good,  and  yours.” 

Thorne  turned  his  head,  and,  with  bitterness,  said : 

Of  course  I must  excuse  you,  Madam,  Ihougl)  you 


GUARDIAlSr  AGAINST  LOYEK 


229 


take  from  me  the  light  of  my  existence.  I will  con- 
sole myself  by  reading  Hervey’s  Meditations  among  the 
Tombs,  as  they  will  be  most  congenial  to  the  present 
state  of  my  mind.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  excused  the  petulance  of  the  annoy- 
ed lover,  and,  with  a faint  smile,  replied  : 

“ I recommend,  in  preference,  something  less  som- 
bre. A package  of  new  books  came  to-day,  and  you 
will  find  them  on  the  table.  Come,  my  dear,  let  us 
leave  Mr.  Thorne  to- recover  his  temper,  and,  with  it, 
his  usual  suavity  of  manner.” 

The  two  went  out  together,  but  when  the  young  girl 
gained  the  door,  she  turned,  gave  a glance  of  intelli- 
gence to  her  lover,  and,  kissing  her  hand  to  him  van- 
ished. 

She’s  good  pluck  after  all,”  muttered  Thorne, 
‘‘and  she’ll  stand  by  me  yet,  in  spite  of  the  lecturing. 
Mrs.  Courtnay  may  as  well  preach  to  the  winds,  for  I 
can  see  that  Claire  means  to  risk  her  fate  with  me.” 

“ Risk  ! Good  heaven  ! why  did  such  a word  come 
to  my  lips  ? I know  that  I am  mad  to  persist  in  this, 
for  God  knows  to  what  I may  bring  that  poor  girl  yet, 
I love  her  with  the  most  insane  passion ; but  would  I 
sacrifice  myself  for  her  if  the  w^orst  should  come  ? 
Alas  ! I fear  not,  for  I am  weak  and  unstable  as  water.” 

He  sat  down,  and  tried  to  think,  for,  false  as  he  was, 
Walter  Thorne  was  not  utterly  base.  He  meant  to  do 
what  was  right  by  this  helpless  young  creature,  if  he 
found  it  possible,  without  too  great  detriment  to  his 
own  interest  ; but  thinking  was  not  his  forte,  especial- 
ly when  the  subject  was  an  intricate  one,  so  he  soon 
started  up,  and  went  in  pursuit  of  Father  Jerome, 
hoping  to  gain  from  him  some  encouragement  to  rush 
headlong  into  the  ruin  he  was  preparing  for  himself- 


230  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Now,  when  the  consent  of  Claire  was  almost  won*, 
he  began  to  waver  himself,  and  doubt  the  result  of  his 
rashness. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  HASTY  MARRIAGE. 


IHORNE  found  the  priest  in  possession  of  the  pret- 


JL  ty  cottage  in  the  rear  of  the  chapel  which  had  been 
erected  especially  for  his  use.  The  chapel  was  a small 
gothic  building  beautifully  finished,  and  the  interior 
was  decorated  with  paintings  from  sacred  subjects, 
Avhich  had  been  executed  b}^  Mrs.  Courtnay  herself. 
The  altar  was  draped  with  hangings,  embroidered  by 
the  same  fair  hands,  for  in  her  solitude  it  had  been  the 
employment  of  several  years  of  her  life  to  ornament 
the  shrine  at  which  she  offered  her  devotions. 

The  cottage  contained  but  two  rooms,  fitted  up  with 
the  ascetic  taste  of  the  occupant ; but  Father  Jerome 
belonged  to  a very  strict  order,  and,  even  in  his  deli- 
cate state  of  health,  he  allowed  himself  no  luxuries. 

The  floors  were  bare,  but  the  walls  of  the  outer 
room  were  covered  with  devotional  pictures  ; in  a re- 
cess between  the  windows  stood  a marble  head  of 
Christ  crowned  with  thorns,  and  above  it  hung  an 
ebony  crucifix.  The  interior  apartment  contained  an 
iron  bedstead,  which  supported  the  straw  mattress  on 
which  the  priest  reposed  his  worn  and  wasted  frame 
when  his  vigils  allowed  him  to  seek  the  rest  nature 
imperiously  demanded.  Two  chairs,  with  a small 
table,  completed  the  furniture. 


THE  HASTY  MABRIAGE. 


231 


Seated  beside  the  latter,  was  the  emaciated  figure  of 
Father  Jerome,  with  a large  tome  open  before  him. 
Thorne  looked  at  the  pale,  spiritual  face,  and  remem- 
bered what  Mrs.  Courtnay  had  said.  There  was  a 
singular  brightness  in  his  eyes  that  told  of  constant 
inward  fever,  and  a vagueness  in  the  expression,  which 
betrayed  the  insidious  disease  that  was  sapping  his 
mental  powers. 

The  shock  of  M.  Lapierre’s  sudden  death  had  given 
the  last  impulse  to  the  lurking  evil ; the  tension  upon 
his  system  had  been  too  great  and  long  sustained ; for, 
in  the  intervals  of  his  active  life,  the  priest  had  been 
an  ardent  student,  and  the  over-wrought  brain  was 
rapidly  giving  way.  He  began  himself  dimly  to  sus- 
pect that  it  was  softening  beneath  the  load  he  habitu- 
ally laid  upon  it,  and  he  was  most  anxious  to  consult 
a medical  friend  in  Baltimore  as  to  his  actual  condi- 
tion ; hence  his  ready  assent  to  Mrs.  Courtna5’'’s  plans. 

He  had  been  making  an  effort  to  think  earnestly  on 
the  subject  of  the  lovers  and  their  fortunes,  but  in  his 
{inxiety  to  secure  a proselyte,  and  save  a wandering 
soul,  he  gave  little  weight  to  Mrs.  Courtnay’s  objec- 
tions to  an  immediate  marriage  between  them. 

He  thought  if  Thorne  escaped  him  now,  he  would 
return  to  the  world,  and  forget  the  serious  impressions 
he  had  led  this  good  man  to  believe  he  had  received  ; 
but  if  he  took  with  him  as  his  wife  a daughter  of  the 
church,  she  would  keep  him  in  the  path  in  which  he 
should  walk,  and  with  Father  J erome  every  other  con- 
sideration bent  before  that. 

To  save  souls  was  his  mission,  and  of  what  conse- 
quence was  a clandestine  marriage,  in  comparison  with 
the  weightier  consideration  ? I am  afraid  he  thought 


232  the  clandestine  marriage. 

of  Claire  very  little,  for  he  had  taken  so  great  a liking 
for  Thorne,  that  he  regarded  her  fate  as  quite  secure 
in  the  keeping  of  one  who  professed  to  be  so  deeply 
impressed  with  the  sublime  truths  they  had  discussed 
together. 

The  priest  welcomed  his  guest  with  a wan  smile,  and 
pointing  to  a chair,  said  : 

I am  glad  that  you  have  come,  my  son,  for  when  I 
am  alone  I cannot  lay  aside  the  old  habit  of  study,  and 
I begin  to  feel  that  it  is  too  much  for  me.  The  mind 
weakens  with  the  failure  of  the  physical  energies,  and 
I am  not  good  for  much  now.  I have  been  trying  to 
think  over  what  you  said  to  me  yesterday,  and  to  de- 
cide on  what  is  best  to  be  done.  It  is  a pity  for  all 
concerned,  that  Mrs.  Countnay  is  so  immovable,  when 
she  thinks  she  is  iii  the  right.  As  to  myself,  I can  see 
no  objection  to  this  marriage  taking  place  at  once,  if, 
as  you  say,  your  parents  are  willing  to  receive  Claire 
Lapierre  as  your  wife.” 

“I  have  already  assured  you  of  that  fact.  Father,” 
replied  Thorne,  perfectly  unembarrassed.  ‘‘No  one 
has  a right  to  an  opinion  on  the  subject  but  my  father, 
and  you  have  read  his  letter  to  me.  I have  also 
shown  you  others,  which  prove  the  truth  of  what  I 
have  stated  with  reference  to  my  family  and  future 
prospects.” 

“ Yes — yes — all  that  was  satisfactory  enough,”  was 
the  musing  reply.  “ It  will  be  a fine  thing  for  a de- 
pendant young  girl  to  step  at  once  into  such  a position 
as  you  offer  Claire.  She  will  have  the  power  to  do 
much  good,  and  that  should  always  be  considered.” 

“ My  dear  young  friend,  I hardly  like  to  let  you  go 
out  into  the  world  again  without  taking  with  you  this 


THE  HASTY  MARRIAGE. 


233 


pretty  creature.  She  is  a good  child,  and  she  will  be 
a sweet  monitress  to  you  in  the  temptations  that  will 
assail  you.  I really  think  that  Mrs.  Courtnay  is  too 
hard  on  you  in  this  affair  ; but  she  will  not  listen  to 
my  representations  any  more  than  to  your’s.” 

No — she  c]iooses  to  have  her  own  way,  that  is  tlie 
truth  of  it,”  said  Thorne,  bitterly.  ‘‘Mrs.  Courtnay, 
with  all  her  goodness,  is  a very  imperious  woman,  and 
likes  to  make  ever}^  one  around  her  bend  to  her  will. 
I have  been  speaking  with  her  this  afternoon,  and  she 
is  like  granite.  I have  also  had  an  interview  with 
Claire,  and  I have  learned  something  from  her  which 
is  important.  She  says  that  on  the  last  night  of  her 
father’s  life,  he  gave  his  consent  to  an  early  union  be- 
tween us,  and  she  is  under  the  impression  that  some- 
thing you  said  to  him  caused  this  change  in  his  views.” 

“I  remember — I expressed  my  doubts  as  to  the  pru- 
dence of  long  engagements.  I said  to  M.  Lapierre, 
that  they  rarely  end  happily  for  the  parties  concerned.” 

“Nor  will  this  one  end  well^  if  I am  compelled  to 
3/ield  my  wishes  to  others.  Besides,  Father,  when 
Claire  and  myself  were  betrothed,  she  expressed  her- 
self in  such  a manner,  that  armed  v/ith  her  father’s 
consent,  I have  the  right  to  demand  the  ratification  of 
her  vows.  She  declares  that  consent  was  given,  and  I 
ask  you  to  pronounce  over  us  the  blessing  of  the 
church,  without  allowing  Mrs.  Courtnay  to  suspect 
that  such  a thing  has  been  done,  till  I think  it  best  to 
proclaim  our  marriage.  If  you  will  consent  to  this,  T 
pledge  myself  to  prove  to  you  that  I am  a liberal  and 
true  son  of  the  faith.  I shall  receive  my  bride  ar 
your  hands,  as  the  dearest  gift  you  could  bestow, 
and  in  requital  of  the  service,  I will  make  a rich  offer- 


234  the  clandestine  marriage, 

ing  to  your  church.  So  far  as  you  are  yourself  con- 
cerned, I know  that  you  are  indifferent  to  money, 
therefore  I do  not  offer  it  to  your  individual  accept- 
ance.” 

“ Thanks,  my  son.  Of  course  I am  not  at  liberty  to 
refuse  your  liberality  to  the  great  hierarchy  of  which  I 
am  a lowly  servant ; for  the  money  bestowed  on  us, 
enables  us  to  succor  the  helpless — to  lift  up  the  down- 
trodden, and  maintain  the  prestige  of  the  ghurch.  1 
have  served  it  in  my  humble  way,  but  I doubt  if  it 
will  be  right  for  me  to  accept  a bribe  to  do  what  it 
would  be  so  displeasing  to  the  friend  whose  hospitali- 
ty I enjoy.  She  would  take  the  defection  of  her 
adopted  child  greatly  to  heart,  and  I scarcely  see  my 
way  clear ; though,  heaven  help  me  ! I can  see  noth- 
ing clearly  in  the  last  few  weeks  ! ” 

He  pressed  his  hand  to  his  brow  as  if  in  pain,  but 
Thorne  paid  little  attention  to  that.  His  own  lately- 
awakened  doubts,  as  to  the  prudence  of  his  course, 
died  out  as  soon  as  he  found  any  wavering  on  the  part 
of  the  priest.  He  impetuously  exclaimed  : 

It  is  your  duty  to  serve  and  save  me.  Father  Je- 
rome. If  you  refuse  what  I ask,  I will  go  on  my  way, 
reckless  of  what  may  happen  to  me.  I will  plunge 
into  the  wildest  dissipations,  with  no  check  upon  me  ; 
for  if  I lose  Claire,  I shall  become  desperate.  With 
her  hand  clasped  in  mine,  I shall  walk  safely  over 
temptation — without  her,  I shall  be  lost — lost.” 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head,  and  gazed  on  him  with 
his  glittering  and  unsteady  eyes,  and  a shudder  thrilled 
through  his  frame  at  the  repetition  of  the  last  word. 
He  tremulously  said : 

No — no — not  lost,  if  I can  save  you,  by  the  sacrifice 


THE  HASTY  xMARRIAGE. 


235 


of  a few  scruples.  My  son,  you  are  terribly  in  ear- 
nest, I see,  and — and — as  the  consent  of  M.  Lapierre 
was  given,  I do  not  think  it  can  be  wrong  to  give  you 
the  bride  you  covet,  especially  as  so  much  is  at  stake, 
for  yourself.  You  have  conquered  : come  hither  with 
Claire  at  midnight,  and  I will  pronounce  over  you  the 
blessing  of  the  church.” 

Thorne  started,  and  seemed  divided  between  joy  and 
surprise  at  the  sudden  concession.  He  said  : 

So,  soon  as  that  father  ? We  may  not  be  able  to 
make  our  arrangements  as  rapidly  as  you  require.” 

‘‘  It  m.ust  be  to-night,  if  at  all^  for  I feel  very 
strangely.  To-morrow  it  may  be  too  late  to  serve  you, 
and  in  the  hereafter  God  may  require  at  my  hands  the 
soul  that  I might  have  used  the  means  to  save,  and 
v\'ould  not.  In  some  respects  the  marriage  must  be  in- 
formal, but  as  you  have  professed  the  Catholic  faith, 
you  will  feel  that  it  is  indissoluble  ; and — and — I am 
sure  that  I can  trust  you  with  the  welfare  of  my 
friend’s  daughter.” 

‘‘You  may  trust  me.  Father,”  and  the  speaker  was 
deeply  in  earnest  when  he  uttered  the  words.  “ I 
can  never  thank  you  sufficiently  for  conceding  so  much 
to  me,  so  I will  not  make  the  attempt.  I have  already 
made  my  confession  and  prepared  mj^self  for  the  ordeal 
before  me.  Is  there  an3dhing  else  that  remains  to  be 
done?” 

“ Send  Claire  to  me,”  was  the  faint  response.  “ I 
am  not  well,  and  I must  see  her  before  I lie  down  to 
repose  m3"  worn  out  body.” 

Thorne  lifted  his  thin  hand,  and,  respectfully  press- 
ing it,  said : 

“ I will  seek  her  at  once.  Father,  and  communicate 
to  her  the  result  of  our  interview,” 


236  the  clandestine  marriage. 


He  left  the  cottage  in  a whirl  of  feeling.,  which  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  analyze.  His  fate  was 
settled  beyond  recal  now,  and  the  few  scruples  he  had 
were  cast  away.  In  a glow  of  rapture  he  moved  for- 
ward, as  if  walking  on  air,  through  the  winding  ave- 
nue of  trees  that  led  to  the  house. 

At  a sudden  turn  in  it  he  beheld  Claire  moving  slow- 
ly and  dejectedly  in  the  direction  of  the  chapel.  Her 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground,  and  she  was  evidently 
unconscious  of  the  vicinity  of  her  lover.  Thorne 
sprang  forward,  clasped  her  ardently  to  his  breast,  and 
rapidly  said : - • 

It  is  all  right,  my  darling  wife  ! The  good  father 
will  unite  us.  He  has  pledged  his  word  to  do  so  im- 
mediately. My  love,  you  look  so  deeply  depressed, 
and  I am  delirious  with  joy.  What  has  Mrs.  Court- 
nay  been  saying  to  make  you  so  unhappy  ? ” 

Claire  wept  hystericall}^  upon  his  breast  a few  mo- 
ments, and  then  brokenly  said: 

‘‘  Mamma  was  very  grave,  but  very  kind.  She  tried 
to  make  me  see  that  it  is  necessary  to  test  your  con- 
stancy, Walter ; but  if  I thought  you  could  be  untrue 
to  me,  I should  die  at  once.” 

‘‘  You  shall  not  die,  Claire,  but  you  shall  live  for 
me.  Father  Jerome  is  waiting  for  you  to  hear  your 
final  confession  before  we  are  united.  This  night  he 
iias  himself  appointed,  and  I hope  you  will  make  no 
objection.” 

Claire  uttered  a faint  cry. 

‘^So  soon  as  that!  Oh,  Walter,  how  can  I consent 
Lu  so  sudden  a marriage  ? ” ' 

You  will  consent  when  I tell  you  that  the  priest  is 
evidentlyjbecoming  veiy  ill,  and  if  there  is  any  delay, 


THE  HASTY  ISl  A R R T A G E. 


237 


he  may  not  be  in  a condition  to  serve  us  at  all.  It  is 
lucky  you  came  hither  so  opjDortnnely,  for  I was  won- 
dering how  I could  communicate  with  you  before 
night.” 

Mamma  sent  me  to  confess  to  Father  Jerome,  and 
ask  his  advice.  I am  afraid  that  we  are  all  treating 
her  very  badly.” 

“I  don’t  know  about  that.  She  treats  us  cavalierly 
enough  in  all  conscience,  for  she  lays  down  the  law, 
and  expects  us  to  abide  by  it.  Don’t  look  so  shocked, 
little  one.  T know  it  sounds  like  treason  to  you  to 
speak  thus  of  Mrs.  Courtnay,  but  my  patience  is  worn 
out  with  her  exactions.  Go  on,  petite^  and  see  the 
[ riest.  I will  follow  you  in  half  an  hour,  ajid  walk 
back  to  the  house  with  you.” 

Vv^ith  a troubled  and  doubtful  heart,  Claire  pursued 
her  way  to. the  cottage.  She  found  Father  Jerome  still 
seated  in  his  chair,  but  so  white  and  unner\  ed  that  she 
hastened  to  offer  him  water.  This  revived  him  a lit- 
tle, and  he  listened  to  the  artless  confession  she  came 
to  make. 

At  its  close  he  earnestly  asked : 

“ Do  you  love  this  young  man  above  all  earthly  crea- 
ures,  my  daughter  ? Do  you  believe  with  all  your 
heart  that  you  can  be  faithful  to  him  through  good  and 
evil  report — through  all  the  chances  and  changes  of 
life?” 

“ I do  love  him.  Father,  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  soul.  I will  be  faithful  to  him  through  every- 
thing.’* 

Then  there  is  no  need  of  further  delay.  I fee] 

\ ry  strangely  this  evening,  and  I cannot  tell  what  is 
impending  over  me.  I must  make  your  future  sure 


238 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


before  my  senses  quite  desert  me.  Summon  your  love 
at  once,  and  let  him  assist  me  into  the  chapel.  It  will 
be  best  to  have  the  nuptial  rites  over  before  my  senses 
fail  me.'’ 

Alarmed  by  his  strange  looks,  Claire  tremblingly 
said  : 

“You  are  too  ill  to  attend  to  anything  now,  Father. 
Walter  is  near  here,  and  I will  summon  him  to  assist 
you  to  your  couch.” 

“ Do  so.  But  if  you  wish  me  to  marry  you  at  all,  I 
must  not  lie  down  before  doing  it,  for  I scarcely  think 
that  I shall  ever  rise  from  my  bed  again,  when  I am 
once  placed  upon  it.  This  is  your  hour  ; avail  your- 
self of  it,  or  give  up  your  marriage  altogether.  With- 
out you  to  guide  him  in  the  right  path,  that  young 
man  will  go  down  to  destruction,  and  his  soul  will  be 
required  at  my  hands.  Call  him,  I insist.  It  is  too 
late  to^shrink  back  now.” 

Claire  went  to  the  door,  and  found  Thorne  linger- 
ing near  it.  At  a sign  from  her  he  rapidly  approached, 
and  together  they  entered  the  inner  room. 

The  priest  languidly  raised  his  head,  and  faintly 
said : 

“ It  is  too  late  for  me  to  go  to  the  chapel  now,  for  I 
feel  as  if  all  my  strength  is  deserting  me.  Kneel  down 
l)efore  the  table  ; it  can  serve  as  an  altar.  I have  al- 
read\'  baj)tized  you,  and  received  your  first  confession, 
Walter  Thorne,  and  thus  you  have  become  a son  of 
l!i  ‘ (‘iiurcii.  Take  the  hand  of  3mur  betrothed,  and 
I'eceivc^  !ier  as  ^mur  bride.” 

The  3"oung  pair,  with  rapidly  beating  hearts,  obeyed 
nis  commands;  the  voice  r^f  Father  Jerome  seemed  to 
gain  strength,  and  in  resonant  tones  he  performed  the 


THE  HASTY  MAKRIAGE. 


239 


marriage  service.  But  as  he  pronounced  the  blessing, 
he  fell  back  quite  insensible. 

The  married  lovers  had  no  time  to  think  of  the 
strange  scene  in  which  they  had  just  borne  so  impor- 
tant a part.  Thorne  dropped  the  hand  that  rested  in 
his  own,  and,  starting  up,  lifted  the  father  to  his  hard 
couch,  and  placed  him  upon  it,  while  Claire  busied 
herself  in  efforts  to  restore  him  to  consciousness.  But 
he  lay  befoi*e  them,  white  and  cold,  with  no  sign  of 
life  save  his  heavy  breathing. 

I must  remain  with  him  while  you  go  up  to  the 
house,  and  inform  Mrs.  Courtnay  of  his  condition, 
Claire.  Betray  nothing  by  your  looks,  my  darling,  for 
we  must  keep  what  has  happened  here  a profound 
secret  till  we  are  far  away.  You  will  be  careful  ? ” . 

Yes — yes.  Oh,  Walter — if  he  should  die,  it  would 
be  dreadful  to  think  that  we  were  married  by  a man  on 
the  brink  of  eternity.” 

‘‘  He  will  not  die  if  he  has  help  at  once.  Hasten 
on  your  errand,  my  love,  for  much  depends  on  prompt- 
ness in  such  a case  as  this.” 

Claire  sped  away,  to  spread  consternation  through 
the  family,  for  Father  Jerome  was  beloved  by  every 
one  in  it.  Assistance  soon  came,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay 
had  him  carefully  removed  to  the  house,  where  a more 
comfortable  apartment  had  been  hastily  prepared  for 
him. 

When  the  physician  who  was  sent  for  arrWed,  he 
still  lay  in  the  same  heavy  stupor,  and  Dr.  Bledsoe 
pronounced  the  attack  pressure  on  the  brain.  He  re- 
sorted to  such  remedies  as  he  hoped  would  relieve  him, 
and  they  were  so  far  successful,  that  during  the  night 
consciousness  was  restored.  But  it  was  evident  to 


240  the  clandestine  marriage. 

those  around  him  that  his  mind  wandered,  and  the 
physician  shook 'his  head  over  the  symptoms,  and  ex- 
pressed his  fears  that  the  overwrought  brain  would 
never  react  again. 

Father  Jerome  might  regain  bodily  strength  to  walk 
about  as  usual,  but  the  power  of  controlling  his 
thoughts  had  departed  from  him  forever. 

This  was  sad  news  to  Mrs.  Courtnay,  for  she  had 
long  relied  on  him  as  an  adviser  and  comforter,  but 
she  bowed  her  head  in  submission  to  the  affliction,  and 
occupied  herself  in  contributing  to  his  recovery  as  far 
as  lay  in  her  power. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  FLIGHT. 


ALTER  THORNE  had  triumphed  over  the  weak- 


T Y ness  of  the  stricken  priest,  and  won  the  coveted 
idol  he  had  set  up  for  a worship,  destined  to  be  as  brief 
as  it  was  intoxicating. 

He  overruled  the  desire  of  Claire  to  inform  Mrs. 
Courtnay  of  what  had  taken  place  in  the  cottage  on 
the  evening  of  Father  Jerome’s  seizure,  and,  clothed 
with  his  marital  authority,  he  insisted  that  she  should 
secretly  leave  the  home  in  which  she  had  been  so 
kindly  received,  and  go  forth  with  him  into  that  world 
which  she  had  pictured  to  herself  as  a scene  of  eiichant- 
inent. 

Thorne  was  well  supplied  with  money  by  this  lime, 
for  his  father,  reassured  by  the  tenor  of  his  last  com- 


THE  FLIGHT. 


241 


munication  had  sent  him  a check  for  a considerable 
sum  in  the  belief  tliat  it  would  be  used  to  reward  those 
who  had  nursed  him  through  his  illness,  and  release 
him  from  any  further  obligations  to  them. 

Col.  Thorne  had  accepted  his  son’s  explanations, 
and  believing  that  Walter  would  not  dare  to  deceive 
liim  so  flagrantly,  he  dismissed  from  his  mind  all  fear 
as  to  his  non-appearance  at  the  time  appointed  for  his 
marriage  with  Agnes  Willard. 

Thorne  wrote  to  the  neighboring  town  in  which  he 
had  passed  several  days  before  his  advent  in  the  vallej^ 
and  ordered  a carriage  to  be  sent  by  midnight  to  wait 
at  the  lower  gate  opening  into  the  grounds  around  the 
Grange  till  he  made  his  appearance.  The  price  he 
offered  for  the  service  ensured  secrecy  and  punctu- 
ality on  the  part  of  the  men  employed ; and  Claire, 
with  a palpitating  heart  commenced  packing  such 
articles  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to  take  with  her. 

By  the  time  their  preparations  were  completed,  the 
priest  was  declared  out  of  immediate  danger,  though  his 
mind  was  still  wandering  and  unsettled,  and  he  but 
vaguely  recognized  the  friends  that  ministered  to  hi  ai 
so  tenderly.  With  many  tears  Claire  prepared  the  h t- 
ter  she  was  to  leave  behind  her.  Thorne  warned  h^r 
not  to  betray  to  Mrs.  Courtnay,  the  part  Father  Jerome 
had  played,  lest  she  should  be  angry  at  being  circum- 
vented b}^  him.  He  declared  it  would  be  quite  as  well 
to  have  her  to  suppose  that  their  union  would  take 
place  after  their  evasion,  and  thus  the  helpless  invalid 
would  escape  all  blame  from  the  friend  on  whose  kind- 
ness he  was  so  completely  thrown. 

To  Claire  this  seemed  very  generous  on  the  part  of 
her  dear  Walter,  and  she  obeyed  him  without  question, 
U 


242  the  clandestine  makriage. 


unconscious  that  she  was  thus  placing  in  his  hands  a 
power  that  would  ere  long  be  fatally  used  against  her- 
self. She  penned  the  following  lines  with  a sad  heart, 
but  she  did  not  for  one  moment  regret  the  step  that 
she  had  taken  : 

“ My  Dear  Friend  and  Mother. — I dare  to 
call  you  by  the  last  name,  though  I am  proving  m3^self 
a most  ungrateful  child ; but,  oh,  mamma,  I love  Wal- 
ter to  that  degree  that  I cannot  refuse  to  do  anything 
that  he  asks  me. 

‘‘  When  you  read  this,  I shall  be  far  away — I shall 
be  his  alone — his  beloved  and  cherished  wife. . You 
know’  that  Mr.  Thorne  is  honorable  and  true,  and 
therefore  you  can  trust  me  to  him,  though  I am  so 
young  and  helpless. 

Dear-  Mamma — I love  you  very  dearly,  and  it 
makes  my  heart  sad  to  deceive  you ; but  you  were  so 
unbending  you  would  not  listen  to  our  prayers,  and  I 
had  not  strength  to  struggle  against  the  entreaties  of 
him  I so  adoringly  love.  You  will  forgive  me — Walter 
insists  that  you  will — and  I am  only  too  willing  to 
believe  that  your  tender  heart  will  not  close  against 
the  child  of  your  love,  though  she  has  deserted  you  for 
another. 

“You  will  remember  that  I had  the  consent  of  my 
father  to  our  union,  and  if  he  had  lived,  this  flight 
would  not  have  been  necessary.  That  thought  wnll  lielp 
to  reconcile  you  to  your  poor  child,  for  I shall  always 
love  you  as  if  you  were  indeed  my  mother. 

“We  are  going  to  Eastern  Virginia,  wJiere  we  shall 

remain  several  w^eeks  before  going  to  L , to  take 

up  our  abode  with  Walter’s  father.  He  will  welcome 


THE  FLIGHT. 


243 


me  kindly  and  graciously,  although  I bring  nothing 
to  his  son,  save  a warm  and  true  heart  and  an  earnest 
desire  to  render  the  home  over  which  I am  to  reign,  a 
happ5^  one. 

‘‘  Dearest  Mamma — I hope  the  time  is  not  far  dis- 
tant Avhen  I shall  receive  you  in  my  house  its  most 
honored  and  beloved  guest.  Have  no  fears  for  me. 
I place  such  faith  and  trust  in  him  who  has  chosen  me 
from  all  the  world  as  the  companion  of  his  life,  that  I 
am  sure  I risk  nothing  in  going  Avith  him,  even  in  this 
clandestine  manner. 

‘‘  Before  you  set  out  upon  your  travels  we  must 
meet  again,  for  I could  not  bear  so  long  a separation 
Avithout  being  clasped  to  your  heart,  and  hearing  from 
your  dear  lips  the  assurances  that  I am  forgiven.  Kiss 
Julia  many  times  for  me,  and  do  not  feel  too  harshly 
toAvards  your  poor  child,  for  my  heart  is  sadly  divided 
between  love  and  duty. 

Your  attached,  though  disobedient, 

Claire.” 

Having  sealed  and  addressed  this  missive,  Claire 
went  to  the  apartment  of  Father  Jerome  to  take  leave 
of  him  for  the  last  time,  she  feared.  He  lay  in  a pallid 
trance,  muttering  vaguely  of  the  duties  he  must  no 
longer  neglect,  for  his  time  Avas  very  short. 

A young  brother  from  the  neighboring  town  had 
come  over  to  watch  beside  him,  but  worn  out  with  his 
vigils,  and  the  heat  of  the  past  day,  he  was  sleeping 
in  a large  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  the  light  step  of 
the  visitor  did  not  arouse  him. 

Claire  knelt  beside  the  couch  and  pressed  the  pale 
hand  of  the  sufferer,  which  lay  upon  the  coverlet, 


1-^4  the  clandestine  mareiage 

i v verently  to  her  lips.  She  prayed  fervently  lor  his 
1*1  storation,  and  mentally  blessed  him  for  the  happi- 
ness she  believed  he  had  conferred  on  herself,  and  the 
(d)ject  of  her  ardent  affections. 

Father  Jerome  unclosed  his  eyes,  and  a gleam  of  in- 
ti liigence  came  into  them.  In  a faint  tone  he  whis- 
j)ered : 

Is  it  you,  my  daughter,  where  is  Mr.  Thorne  ? I 
wisli  to  speak  to  him — to  tell  him  how  solemn  are  the 
(futies  he  has  assumed  toward  a being  so  helpless  and 
dependent  as  you  are.” 

In  the  same  tone  she  replied  : 

Walter  is  not  with  me.  Father — he  will  come 
later  to  see  you.  You  are  much  better,  I trust.” 

‘‘  Yes — all  is  well  with  me  now.  I am  going  to  my 
reward,  but  you  have  much  to  do  in  the  long  life  that 
is  probably  before  you.  I gave  you  to  your  lover, 
Claire,  that  you  might  keep  the  wandering  feet 
straight — the  light  and  erring  nature  from  straying  in 
forbidden  places.  You  are  good  and  true — ^you  will 
make  your  husband  so,  for  much  depends  on  your  in- 
fluence.” 

His  Avords  became  unintelligible,  and  Claire  hastened 
to  implore  his  blessing  before  he  sank  off  into  one  of 
the  deep  slumbers  from  which  it  became  more  and 
more  difficult  to  arouse  him.  Father  Jerome  seemed 
to  understand  her,  for  he  gropingly  placed  his  hand 
upon  her  head  and,  in  a scarcely  audible  whisper,  ut- 
tered a few  broken  words,  the  sense  of  which  she  fail- 
ed to  catch. 

Claire,  however,  kneAv  what  he  meant  to  say,  and 
she  arose  comforted  and  strengthened  for  what  lay 
bef  .)re  her.  She  flitted  out  as  noiselessly  as  she  had 


THE  FLIGHT. 


245 


entered,  witliout  disturbing  the  slumbers  of  the  tired 
watcher. 

The  supper  bell  sounded  soon  after,  and  the  excited 
girl  made  an  effort  to  appear  at  this  last  meal  without 
betraying  the  agitation  of  her  feelings.  Thorne  was 
radiant  and  his  gaiety  was  so  irrepressible  that  Mrs. 
Courtnay  regarded  him  with  grave  surprise  and  asked 
if  he  kne^  that  Father  Jerome  was  considered  by  his 
physician  in  a very  critical  condition. 

‘‘Pray  excuse  me,”  he  said.  “ I feel  unusually 
light-hearted  this  evening,  and  I forgot  that  a dying 
man  is  in  the  house.  I was  trying  to  brighten  up 
Claire  a little,  for  she  looks  as  if  she  had  lost  her  last 
friend.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  glanced  at  the  face  of  Claire,  and  saw 
that  some  unusual  emotion  was  mirrored  in  it.  She 
kindly  said : 

“ Till  1 am  laid  to  rest  Claire  will  have  one  friend 
who  will  stand  by  her  through  good  and  evil  report. 
Let  her  console  herself  for  the  good  Father’s  condition 
by  that  thought.  He  has  been  her  spiritual  guide, 
but  I am  the  mother  chosen  by  her  own  heart  to  fill 
the  place  of  the  one  that  was  so  early  taken  from  her,” 

Claire  impulsively  grasped  the  hand  of  the  speaker 
and  pressed  it  to  her  heart,  as  she  said  : 

“Dear  mamma,  I can  never  sufficiently  thank  you 
for  all  your  past  kindness  to  me.  Let  what  will  hap- 
pen, never  believe  that  I am  ungrateful.” 

“ Why,  what  can  happen  to  make  me  think  that  ? ” 

And  Mrs.  Courtnay  glanced  from  the  changing  face 
of  Claire  to  that  of  Thorne,  but  his  defied  scrutiny. 
He  vailed  the  annoyance  he  felt,  and  coolly  said: 

“ Your  fair  protegee  has  paroxysms  of  sentiment,  I 


246 


TH£  CLANDESTINE  :iIARRIAGE. 


perceive,  Madam.  Claire  is  too  impulsive.  Slie  musi 
learn  to  control  the  expression  of  her  feelings,  and  1 
see  now  the  wisdom  of  the  training  you  are  so  anxious 
to  afford  her.  We  should  both  be  very  grateful  for 
your  thoughtfulness.” 

iMrs.  Courtnay  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  a 
puzzled  expression  ; but  Claire,  warned  by  the  sharp- 
ened inflection  in  Thorne’s  voice,  stifled  the  emotions 
that  were  struggling  for  utterance,  and  succeeded  so 
well  that  her  friend  only  said : 

I am  glad  that  you  are  convinced  of  the  wisdom 
of  my  plans  for  securing  your  future  happiness. 
Nothing  could  be  more  fatal  to  it  than  a precipitate 
marriage  between  two  persons  so  young  and  inexperi- 
enced as  yourself  and  Claire.  You  have  a great  deal 
to  learn,  Mr.  Thorne,  before  you  are  fitted  to  become 
a kind  and  considerate  husband,  and  this  child  has  been 
so  tenderly  and  indulgently  reared  that  she  will  exact 
a great  deal  from  you  when  you  are  married.  I ” 

Thorne  eagerly  broke  in  upon  her  : 

“ Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Courtnay,  but  I must  say  that 
every  exaction  on  the  part  of  the  woman  I love  I shall 
consider  as  a proof  of  her  affection  forme,  and  I would 
devote  my  life  to  render  her  happy  in  her  own  way.” 

Claire  gave  him  a radiant  glance  of  thanks,  but  Mj-s. 
Courtna}^  drily  replied ; 

So  you  think  now,  I doubt  not,  but  the  glamour 
of  passion  soon  passes  away,  and  a gentle  and  tender 
confidence  must  succeed  it  to  render  the  matrimonial 
yoke  endurable.  If  the  fervent  heat  of  summer  con- 
tinued forever  there  ^yould  be  little  comfort  in  life,  and 
if  the  egotism  and  selfishness  of  love  did  not  soften  in- 
to something  less  entrancing,  but  better  for  the  con- 


THE  F I I G H T. 


247 


tciitment  of  every-day  life,  tlie  union  you  are  so  anxious 
to  cement  Avould  become  a burden.” 

‘‘  Oh,  mamma,  what  a disenclianter  3^011  are,”  mur- 
mured Claire.  I should  Avish  to  dwell  forever  in 
the  dream  castle  I have  built,  and  forget  tlie  prosaic 
realities  of  life.” 

, That  is  Avhat  the  romantic  heart  of  }'outh  desires, 
lu}^  love,  but  such  is  not  the  will  of  Heaven.  i\Iany 
duties  are  given  us  to  perform,  and  in  the  extended 
sphere  in  Avhich  you  will  hereafter  move  you  will  find 
A^our  present  crude  theory  of  life  an  impossible  m3uh.” 
In  a displeased  tone  Thorne  replied  : 

‘‘  If  such  are  to  be  your  teachings,  Mrs.  Courtiia}^,  I 
scarce!}^  think  I should  be  willing  to  leaA^e  m3"  Peri 
witli  A'ou,  if  I could  help  m3^self.  Let  the  beAvildering 
dream  of  loA^e  be  as  brief  as  intoxicating,  is  1113^  tlieoiy, 
provided  one  is  perfectly  happy  Avhile  it  lasts.  It  Avill 
ot  least  be  something  to  look  back  with 

joy,  if  one  can  sny,  ‘ I have  once  Avalked  the  earth  as  a 
demi-god  and  revelled  in  such  bliss  as  an  angel  from 
Heaven  might  have  envied.’  ” 

His  impassioned  e3"es  sought  those  of  Claire,  and  the 
expression  he  read  full3^  responded  to  the  sentiment  he 
had  just  expressed.  Mrs.  Courtnay  smiled  sadly. 

You  remind  me  of  a man  of  wiiom  I once  read, 
wlio  spent  the  last  money  he  possessed  in  a magnificent 
supper,  and  after  enjoying  it  Avith  infinite  zest,  he 
aAvoke  from  the  sleep  that  folloAved  to  find  himself  a 
pauper.  The  Avild  passion  you  describe  lasts  but  a day 
and  the  night  that  follows  is  dark  and  dreary  enough. 
I think  it  well  that  I have  refused  to  allow  Claire  to 
give  3"^^  her  hand  Avithout  a probation  that  may  bring 
you  more  rational  vieAvs  of  life.” 


248  the  clandestine  marriage. 


‘‘Perhaps  so,”  he  said,  and  the  smile  that  wreathed 
his  lips  was  inexplicable  to  her. 

They  arose  from  the  table,  and  Thorne  courteously 
said : 

“ I have  to  thank  you  for  your  hospitality,  Mrs. 
Courtnay,  and  take  my  leave  of  you  to-night,  for  ] 
sliall  depart  at  so  early  an  hour  of  the  morning  that 
you  will  not  be  visible.” 

“ Are  you  really  going,  Mr.  Thorne  ? I thought 
you  would  remain  till  Father  Jerome  is  better.” 

“ I might  in  that  case  linger  for  months  ; and  happy 
as  I should  be  to  remain  at  the  Grange,  the  commands 
of  my  father  will  not  permit  it.  I have  already  made 
arrangements  for  my  departure  : a carriage  comes  from 
S to  take  me  away,  and  by  dawn  I shall  set  out.” 

* Mrs.  Courtnay  glanced  at  Claire,  who  had  grown 
very  pale  at  this  announcement.  She  courteously 
said  : 

“ I am  sorry  that  you  cannot  give  us  a few  more 
days,  Mr.  Thorne,  but  if  your  father  commands  your 
presence,  of  course  you  must  obey.  As  I do  not  wish 
to  play  the  part  of  the  stern  duenna,  I grant  Claire 
permission  to  spend  this  last  evening  with  3^011  in  the 
library.  I Avish  you  a pleasant  and  safe  journey,  and  I 
shall  look  forAvard  to  a happy  re-union  hereafter,  Avhen 
our  vieAvs  Avill  be  more  in  harmon3\” 

“ Thank  }"Ou.  I OAve  3^011  much,  Mrs.  Courtna3^,  and 
I shall  not  forget  the  debt.  Think  of  me  as  kindly  as 
you  can,  and  accept  my  thanks  for  this  last  boon.”  • 

He  bowed  over  the- hand  she  extended  to  him,  and 
then  left  the  apartment,  taking  Julia  Avith  her  after 
she  had  been  kissed  and  patted  on  the  head  by  the 
departing  guest. 


THE  FLIGHT. 


249 


The  lovers  went  into  tlie  library  together,  and  in 
great  agitation  Claire  exclaimed  : 

It  is  dreadful  to  act  in  tliis  underhand  manner, 
Walter  I l\Iamma  is  so  honorable  herself  that  she  can- 
not suspect  us  of  double-dealing.  Oh  ! what  will  slie 
thiniv  of  me  when  she  knows  with  what  treachery  I 
liave  rewarded  her  confidence  ? ” 

Think,  my  darling  I Wh}-,  only  that  youth  and 
love  are  reckless  of  consequences.  She  who  has 
been  content  to  ‘dwell  in  decencies  forever,’  will  be- 
gin to  comprehend  tlie  deliri*um  of  passion  and  to  un- 
derstand to  wliat  lengths  it  will  drive  its  votaries. 
Claire,  if  3'ou  had  not  been  mine  past  recal,  I should 
liave  been  maddened  by  the  cold  and  prudeiit  utter- 
ances of  Mrs.  Coiirtnay  to-night.  Don’t  3'Ou  agree 
with  me  that  present  bliss  is  worth  all  the  future  maj^ 
hold  out  to  us  as  a lure  to  sacrifice  that  which  is  with- 
in the  grasp  ? ” 

Slie  faintly  replied: 

“I — I hardly  know,  Walter  ; but  I should  like  our 
happiness  to  be  as  enduring  as  it  is  entrancing.  All  I 
if  we  could  live  on,  loving  as  we  do  now,  we  would 
not  envy  the  bliss  of  the  angels  in  Heaven  ! ” 

Then  let  us  be  angels  while  we  imiy.  If  a change 
must  come — if  a blight  must  fall  on  the  love  we  cher- 
ish for  each  other,  at  least  let  our  bliss  be  perfect 
while  it  lasts.  Cast  that  cloud  from  your  brow,  1113' 
sweet  love,  and  smile  on  me,  forgetful  of  all  on  earth 
or  heaven  but  him  to  whom  you  have  given  3^ourseIf.*’ 
Thus  lovingl3'  adjured,  the  momentary  cloud  left 
the  brow  of  the  infatuated  Claire,  and  she  nestled  to 
his  side,  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast  and  listened  en- 
tranced to  the  tender  promises  he  breathed  into  her 


26(J  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

ear  Never  should  she  have  cause  to  regret  the  clan- 
destine marriage  she  had  made — never  cease  to  find  in 
him  the  adoring  lover  he  then  was ; and  Thorne  delu- 
ded himself  into  believing  all  he  uttered. 

His  self-love  was  flattered  by  Claire’s  unquestioning 
reliance  on  himself — her  implicit  obedience  to  his  com- 
mands ; his  conscience  silenced  by  the  strong  will 
which  led  him  to  gratify  himself  at  all  hazards  ; and 
even  his  dread  of  his  father’s  wrath  was  laid  at  rest  by 
his  determination  to  enjoy  his  brief  dream  of  bliss 
without  one  intruding  care. 

If  he  was  like  a man  on  the  brink  of  Niagara,  about 
to  be  swept  down  by  its  resistless  waves,  he  would  at 
least  float  down  with  the  music  of  the  waters  in  his 
ears,  the  sun  shining  through  the  mist,  weaving  a rain- 
bow of  glowing  loveliness  around  him  as  he  clasped 
his  beloved  to  his  beating  heart  and  dared  the  plunge 
for  her  sake.  He  would  not  think  of  the  future,  the 
present  was  all  in  all  to  him  ; the  hereafter  might  take 
care  of  itself. 

At  nine  o’clock  Mrs.  Courtnay  came  in  to  speak  a 
few  more  parting  words  to  her  guest,  and  to  take 
Claire  away  with  her.  Thorne  had  labored  to  impress 
on  the  latter  the  necessity  of  repressing  all  outward 
sign  of  emotion  when  she  bade  her  protectress  good 
night,  but  when  they  stood  together  at  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Courtnay ’s  chamber,  the  poor  child  threw  her 
;;.i  ins  around  her  and  returned  her  good  night  kiss 
•v.  th  such  fervor  that  her  friend  laughingly  said  : 

‘ One  might  suppose  it  was  I you  were  about  to 
pii  i from,  Claire,  in  place  of  your  lover.  There,  my 
?■:  ar,  go  to  your  room,  and  tiy  and  compose  yourself, 
j ' 11  send  Nancy  to  you  with  a sedative,  which  you 
must  drink  like  a good  girl.” 


THE  FLIGHT. 


251 


Claire  feebly  murmured  her  thanks,  and  hastened 
to  her  own  room,  to  struggle  with  the  emotions  which, 
at  this  last  moment,  threatened  to  overwhelm  her 
powers  of  self-command. 

Ill  a few  moments  the  servant  came  with  some  aro- 
matic drops  which  she  accepted  but  took  very  good 
care  not  to  take.  When  the  house  was  quiet,  and  all 
seemed  buried  in  profound  repose,  she  stole  into  a 
small  room  opening  from  Mrs.  Courtnay’s,  in  which 
Julia  slept.  The  little  girl  was  in  the  sound  sleep  of 
childhood,  and  she  did  not  even  stir  when  Claire  wept 
OA'er,  and  kissed  her,  wondering  where  and  how  they 
would  meet  again. 

She  then  flitted  back  to  her  own  apartment,  com- 
pleted her  preparations  for  departure,  and  sat  beside 
her  window  awaiting  the  signal  that  had  been  agreed 
upon  between  herself  and  Thorne.  The  room  was  on 
the  second  floor,  with  windows  opening  to  the  floor  of 
the  long  piazza  in  the  rear  of  the  house ; from  this,  a 
fliglit  of  steps  led  to  the  lower  story,  and  it  was  easy 
enough  to  effect  her  escape  without  danger  of  detec- 
tion. 

Claire  heard  the  hours  strike  upon  the  large  clock 
in  the  hall,  and  when  two  rang  out,  it  was  followed 
by  a slight  scraping  sound  upon  her  door.  She  started 
up,  unclosed  it,  and  Thorne  came  noiselessly  in,  softly 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

It  is  time,”  he  whispered.  The  moon  is  rising, 
and  we  can  be  far  away  before  your  absence  is  sus- 
pected. I have  been  down  to  see  the  driver  of  my  ^ 
carriage,  and  everything  is  quite  read}^” 

And  I too  am  readj^,”  was  the  reply,  but  her  voice 
slightly  quivered,  and  she  cast  a regretful  glance 


252  the  cl  an- destine  marriage. 


around  the  secure  shelter  she  was  leaving  for — she 
knew  not  what. 

Thorne  advanced  to  the  window,  unclosed  the  shut- 
ters, and  together  they  slipped  out,  made  their  way 
noiselessly  to  the  lower  floor,  and  passed  toward  the 
steps.  Old  Carlo  lay  upon  a mat  near  the  door,  but 
he  only  raised  his  head  and  uttered  a feeble  whine  of 
recognition,  and  permitted  them  to  go  on  without  any 
further  demonstration. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  yard,  Thorne  carrying 
her  carpet-bag  in  his  hand,  Claire  ventured  to  whisper  : 

“ I forgot  Carlo.  If  he  had  barked,  mamma  would 
have  been  sure  to  look  out  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter.” 

I took  good  care  of  that,”  he  carelessly  replied. 
‘‘  I remembered  the  danger  from  him,  and  I gave  him 
a sedative  more  potent  than  the  one  I met  Nancy  tak- 
ing in  to  you.” 

Oh  Walter!  I hope  you  gave  the  poor  old  fellow 
nothing  that  could  hurt  him,”  gasped  Claire. 

Pooh,  child ! what  was  I to  do  ? There  was  no 
alternative,  for  I would  not  permit  the  life  of  so  insig- 
nificant a creature  to  stand  in  the  way  of  our  success- 
ful evasion.  He  will  not  suffer  long,  and  he  will  only 
be  helped  off  to  dog’s  paradise  a little  sooner  than  he 
must  have  gone  at  any  rate.” 

Claire  felt  as  if  a sudden  blow  had  been  dealt  her, 
and  she  uttered  a little  cry. 

‘‘Are  3"ou  mad?”  asked  Thorne,  almost  fiercely, 
“ that  you  risk  such  an  outcry  as  that  while  we  are  so 
near  the  house  ? What  have  I done  that  you  should 
act  in  such  a manner  ? ” 

“You  have  wounded  my  heart,  that  is  all,”  she 


THE  FLIGHT. 


253 


faintly  replied.  “ The  dog  was  fond  of  you,  and  1 
have  often  seen  you  pet  him.  Do  you  always  rid 
yourself  of  what  is  in  your  way,  in  this  summary  man- 
ner, Walter  ? 

‘‘Don’t  be  a goose,  Claire.  If  a man  does  not  put 
impediments  out  of  his  way,  how  is  he  to  get  on  in 
life?  Things  that  are  of  no  consequence  I thrust 
aside  with  very  little  remorse.  As  to  old  Carlo  I 
think  I have  done  him  a service  by  giving  him  a ticket 
of  leave  from  this  lower  world,  in  which  he  was  get- 
ting to  be  a nuisance.” 

“ But  I thought  you  were  attached  to  him,  Walter. 
I could  not  strike  a deadly  blow  at  the  life  of  any 
creature  I love.” 

“ Perhaps  not ; but  you  are  a woman  ; men  are  dif- 
ferent, you  see,  and  you  must  make  allowances.  It 
was  a choice  between  getting  safely  off  with  j^^ou,  or 
leaving  Carlo  the  power  to  give  the  alarm.  Of  course 
I could  not  hesitate.” 

It  came  to  the  lips  of  Claire  to  say  that  humanity 
was  of  no  sex,  but  she  repressed  the  words  with  a faint 
shiver,  and  Thorne,  who  had  made  her  take  his  arm, 
asked  : 

“ Are  you  cold,  my  darling  ? I hope  you  have  not 
come  away  without  wrapping  a shawl  around  you.” 

“ No — I am  not  cold,  and  I am  sufficiently  wrapped 
up.  I am  only  trembling  at  the  thought  of  what  will 
be  felt  by  mamma  to-morrow  when  our  flight  is  discov- 
ered. Walter,  I have  given  up  everything  for  you, 
and — and — I begin  to  fear  that  I may  become  one  of 
those  impediments  upon  your  path  of  which  you  spoke 
just  now.” 

Tliorne  stopped  and  looked  down  on  tl/e  pale  face 


254 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


on  which  the  moon  was  shining,  and  he  earnestly  said : 

‘‘  How  can  you  imagine  such  a thing  as  that,  Claire 
It  seems  like  sacrilege  to  utter  such  a suggestion.  Are 
you  not  my  chosen  wife — flesh  of  my  flesh  ? We  are 
one  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  in  trampling  on  you, 
I should  be  outraging  myself.  What  are  all  my  vows 
worth  if  they  have  not  brought  to  your  heart  the  con- 
viction that  you  are  the  one  desire  of  mine  ? ” 

She  thrilled  with  happiness  at  this  assurance,  and 
clung  to  his  arm  with  a tender  pressure  that  expressed 
more  than  words. 

“ Forgive  me,  dear  love ; but  I have  onlj^  you,  and 
I tremble  at  the  mere  thought  that  I may  become  a 
burden  to  you.  I am  so  helpless — so  dependent — and 
I have  nothing  to  give  you  but  my  poor  little  faithful 
heart.” 

‘‘  I ask  for  no  higher  prize,  my  darling.  Do  as  I do, 
Claire.  Make  the  most  of  the  passing  hour,  for  that 
is  all  that  we  are  sure  of  in  this  uncertain  life.  Do 
not  poison  ^ love’s  young  dream  ’ by  the  intrusion  of  a 
single  fear,  but  accept  the  bliss  the  gods  provide,  and 
be  thankful  for  it.  I do  not  suffer  a care  to  dim  my 
present,  though  I might,  if  I would  permit  myself  to 
do  so.” 

Then  all  is  not  perfectly  serene  in  his  Heaven  any 
more  than  in  mine,”  thought  the  poor  little  runaway, 
and  she  clouded  her  horizon  still  further  by  conjectur- 
ing what  drawbacks  to  perfect  felicity  her  companion 
thrust  away  from  him  that  he  might  enjoy  his  stolen 
bliss  in  its  utmost  capacity  to  bless. 

She  was  madly  attached  to  him,  but  she  thought  of 
the  long  and  prosperous  future  that  she  believed  open- 
ing before  them,  quite  as  much  as  of  the  present.  To 


THE  FLIGHT. 


255 


be  near  him — to  live  in  his  presence — was  not  3nough 
for  her,  delightful  as  it  was.  She  must  have  some  as- 
surance that  this  happiness  was  to  continue  and  in- 
crease as  the  years  flowed  on  before  she  could  fully 
realize  that  it  was  hers. 

They  crossed  the  wide  lawn,  passed  through  a skirt 
of  woodland,  and  gained  the  lower  gate,  to  find  the 
carriage  drawn  up  on  one  side  of  the  road,  with  the 
driver  nodding  on  his  seat. 

Before  the  man  was  fully  aroused,  Thorne  had  placed 
Claire  in  the  vehicle,  and  was  preparing  to  enter  it 
himself.  The  driver  drowsily  said: 

Is  that  you,  Mr.  Thorne  ? I’ve  waited  so  long  that 
I believe  I was  almost  asleep  just  now.” 

There  can  be  but  one  opinion  about  that,  John, 
Theie — I’ll  shut  the  door  myself ; drive  on,  and  get  to 

S as  soon  as  possible.  I wish  to  be  in  time  to  catch 

the  morning  stage.” 

Very  well,  sir.  By  five  o’clock  I’ll  set  you  down 
at  the  tavern,  and  you’ll  have  time  to  get  a bite  before 
the  stage  starts.” 

‘‘  All  right  then  ; go  on  as  fast  as  you  can.” 

‘‘  I wonder  what  he’s  in  such  a hurry  for,  and  what’s 
a takin’  of  him  off  in  this  here  myste’rous  Avay  ? — ^but 
’taint  none  o’  my  business,”  soliloquized  the  driver ; 
and  with  this  philosophical  conclusion,  he  whipped  up 
his  horses,  and  was  soon  winding  through  the  steep 
road  which  had  been  cut  through  the  mountain  ridge 
that  enclosed  the  valley. 

The  egress  Avas  on  the  opposite  side  from  that  on 
which  Thorne  had  made  his  abrupt  and  dangerous  en- 
trance into  it,  and  as  they  emerged  on  the  table-land 
above,  the  first  ro^y  gleam  of  day  was  seen.  The  stars 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

faded  out,  one  by  one — the  moon  paled  her  brilliancy 
before  the  royal  ruler  of  the  day,  as  she  arose  amid 
ti:e  pomj)  of  golden  and  purple  clouds. 

Claire  shed  a few  bitter  tears  as  she  was  borne  from 
the  scenes  she  had  known  and  loved  from  her  birth, 
but  they  were  wiped  away  by  her  lover,  and  her  emo- 
tion soothed  by  the  tenderest  assurances  of  eternal  de- 
votion. 

She  believed  them,  for  she  had  unbounded  faith  in 
him,  and  after  the  decisive  step  she  had  taken,  nothing 
was  left  for  her  but  trust  in  the  promises  he  so  pro- 
fusely lavished. 

This  was  given  as  unreservedly  as  Thorne  could 
have  wished,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  the  little 
village  to  which  they  were  bound,  Claire  had  almost 
forgotten  her  regrets  at  forsaking  the  friend  of  her  life 
to  go  with  him. 

They  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  unpretending  tav- 
ern, and  the  driver  was  struck  with  astonishment  when 
he  saw  a lady  handed  from  the  carriage.  He  uttered 
a loud  whistle,  and  exclaimed  under  his  breath  : 

“ Well,  by  Jingo  ! this  beats  all ! It’s  the  old 
Trencher’s  gal,  as  sure  as  shooting ! and  she’s  going 
off  with  that  feller.  I might  ha’  knowed,  when  I was 
told  to  wait  in  that  hollow,  that  some  mischief  was 
afoot.  But  it’s  none  o’  my  business — ’as  she  bakes, 
slie  must  brew,’  as  my  old  mammy  used  to  say ; but 
it's  a sorry  drink  she’s  getting  readj"  for  herself,  or  I’m 
liO  conjuror.” 

Thorne  ordered  a private  room — in  which  their 
! reakfast  was  served.  He  was  in  the  gayest  of  spirits, 
and  Claire,  obedient  to  his  impulse,  brightened  up,  in 
spite  of  her  sleepless  night,  and  they  passed  a pleasant 


FATHER  JEROME. 


257 


hour  before  the  stage-horn  sounded  beneath  the  win- 
dow. In  a few  more  moments  they  were  whirling 
rapidly  towards  Richmond,  and  the  young  fugitive 
was  borne  onward  to  the  sad  destiny  she  had  so  reck- 
lessly embraced. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

FATHER  JEROME. 

1^’  the  morning  the  first  thing  that  happened  at  the 
Giange  was  the  discovery  of  Carlo  lying  stark  and 
stiff  upon  the  mat  on  which  he  usually  slept.  Nancy 
found  him  thus  when  she  came  in  to  her  morning 
duties,  and  she  presently  huiried  to  her  mistress  to  re- 
port what  Rad  happened.  With  staring  eyes  she  stood 
beside  Mrs.  Courtnay’s  bed,  and  said : 

I clar’  mistis,  dat  somebody’s  bin  about  de  yard 
dat  oughtn’t  to  bin,  an’  dey’m  bin  and  pizened  dat 
good  ole  Carlo,  caze  he’d  ’a’  barked  and  waked  you 
up.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  sat  up  and  looked  at  her  in  some 
alarm. 

‘‘  Has  anything  been  disturbed  ? ” she  asked. 
Have  you  been  through  the  house  to  see  in  what 
condition  it  is  ? ” 

Yes’m — I’s  bin  through  every  place,  ’cept  Miss 
Claire’s  room,  an’  dat  were  locked.  I knocked  at  de 
do’,  but  she  never  heard  me,  and  so  I come  to  you. 
But  nuffin  aint  bin  took  as  far  as  I kin  see,  an’  ef 
’twas  a robber,  he  only  wanted  suffin  he  foun’  outside 
16 


258  the  clandestine  marriage. 

de  house.  Mr.  Thorne’s  done  gone,  hut  in  course 
’tMan’t  liwi  dat  was  a prowlin’  ’round,  a killin’  of  our 
dog.” 

With  trembling  hands  Mrs.  Courtnay  hastened  to 
make  her  toilette,  and  then  went  out  to  ascertain  the 
state  of  affairs.  Carlo  was  quite  dead,  so  she  ordered 
him  to  be  removed  and  decently  interred.  After  a 
hurried  survey  of  the  house  she  called  to  Claire  to 
open  her  door,  and  when  all  remained  silent  in  her 
room,  with  a quickly  beating  heart  she  moved  toward 
the  lower  end  of  the  hall  and  unlocked  a door  that 
gave  on  the  back  piazza. 

On  stepping  out  a single  glance  showed  her  that  the 
shutter  nearest  to  her  was  imperfectl}^  closed,  and  even 
before  she  entered  the  vacant  room  Mrs.  Courtnay  felt 
certain  of  wdiat  had  happened. 

On  the  toilette  table  lay  the  letter  addressed  to  her 
by  the  fugitive,  and  she  read  it  with  mingled  emotions 
of  compassion  and  anger — compassion  for  the  mis- 
guided girl,  and  anger  for  the  duplicity  of  which  she 
had  been  guilty  toward  herself.  At  that  moment  she 
was  not  disposed  to  extenuate  Claire’s  fault,  for  she 
felt  her  ingratitude  too  deeply.  She  had  placed  her  in 
the  position  of  a daughter,  and  trusted  her  as  such, 
and  this  was  her  return  for  all  the  kindness  lavished 
on  her. 

I wonder  if  she  poisoned  my  poor  old  dog,”  slie 
thought.  ‘‘It  would  only  be  in  keeping  with  the  rest. 
Yet  no — I wrong  the  poor  child — badly  as  she  lias 
acted,  ^he  could  not  have  done  that.  Another  and  a 
more  ruthless  hand  gave  Carlo  his  fate,  and  Claire,  in 
her  turn,  will  find  tlie  same  iron  grasp  crushing  lier  to 
the  earth.  Unhappy  child ! this  reckless,  selfish  man 


FATHER  JEROME. 


259 


will  work  her  wo  yet,  I sadly  fear,  for  she  has  no  one 
to  stand  between  him  and  herself  and  demand  justice 
for  her.  If  he  marries  her,  all  may  be  well,  but  who 
knows  if  he  will  do  that?  Oh  ! Claire — Claire,  Avhy 
have  you  deserted  the  only  friend  who  could  have 
averted  from  you  the  evils  into  which  you  have  so 
recklessly  plunged.” 

She  folded  the  letter,  and  slowly  sought  the  lower 
part  of  the  house.  When  it  became  known  among 
the  household  that  Claire  was  missing,  the  mystery  of 
Carlo’s  fate  was  solved,  though  few  among  them  be- 
lieved that  she  had  destroyed  the  old  dog  who  had 
been  the  companion  of  so  many  of  her  rambles  in  the 
days  of  her  childhood. 

It  was  he  as  done  it,”  was  muttered  among  the 
negroes. 

And  Nancy  said : 

“ Though  he  may  think  a poor  dog  o’  no  account,  it 
were  a bad  start  to  make  wi’  Miss  Claire.  I s’pose 
he’s  a-gwine  to  marry  of  her  an’  come  back  here  askin’ 
of  the  missis’  parding  ; but  ’twont  be  no  use,  caze  she 
looks  white  an’  set  in  the  face,  an’  I don’t  b’leive  much 
would  come  of  it.” 

When  Julia  learned  the  flight  of  her  playfellow,  she 
wept  and  implored  her  mother  to  send  after  her  dar- 
ling Rosebud  and  bring  her  back  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Thorne’s  opposition.  She  wailed  : 

“ My  Claire  will  be  sorry  and  come  back,  mother, 
whether  he  wants  her  to  or  not.  It  was  wicked  of 
Mr.  Thorne  to  take  our  Rosebud  awa}^  from  us — and 
what  will  my  brother  say  ? 

“ He  can  say  nothing  more  than  I do — that  Claire 
has  chosen  her  own  lot  and  we  have  no  further  oon* 


260 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


cern  with  her  affairs.  Do  not  speak  of  her  to  me  again 
Julia,  for  I can  never  hear  her  name  without  pain.  She 
Las  wounded  my  heart  so  deepl}^  that  I hardly  can 
ever  forgive  her.” 

Yet  in  spite  of  her  resentment,  Mrs.  Oourtnay  would 
have  sent  a messenger  upon  the  track  of  the  fugitives, 
authorized  to  see  them  married,  had  there  been  any 
one  near  who  could  have  been  dispatched  on  such  an 
errand.  But  there  was  not — her  son  was  far  away, 
and  if  Andrew  had  been  at  the  Grange,  she  would 
scarcely  have  considered  it  safe  to  send  him  in  pursuit 
of  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  the  object  of  his 
boyish  preference.  His  temper  was  violent,  his  feel- 
ings ardent ; and  she  understood  better  than  any  one 
else  how  deep  a blow  the  knowledge  of  Claire’s  eva- 
sion would  be  to  him,  young  as  he  was. 

She  could  only  fold  her  hands  and  sigh  as  she  thought 
over  the  fate  her  childlike  prot^g^e  had  so  recklessly 
embraced,  and  all  anger  died  out  of  her  womanly  heart 
as  she  foreboded  the  disastrous  consequences  that 
might  result  to  Claire  from  the  event  of  the  past  night. 

When  the  scarcely -tasted  breakfast  was  over,  Mrs. 
Courtnay  went,  as  was  her  usual  custom,  to  inquire 
how  Father  Jerome  had  passed  the  night.  She  found 
him  a little  better,  and  this  morning  he  seemed  able  to 
speak  quite  rationally. 

He  noted  the  unusual  cloud  upon  her  brow,  and 
asked : 

“What  is  it,  daughter,  that  troubles  you  ? Let  me 
lift  the  burden  from  your  heart  and  offer  such  conso- 
lation as  I have  often  given  you  in  past  days.” 

“ If  I thought  you  could  bear  the  revelation  I have 
to  make,  Father,  I would  not  hesitate  ; but  I fear  that 


FATHER  JEROME. 


261 


the  cause  of  my  sadness  would  too  dee],ly  alfect  you.” 

He  gently  replied : 

‘‘  Christ  bore  the  burden  of  our  sins,  and  I,  His 
humble  representative  on  earth,  must  not  shrink  from 
my  share.  I am  stronger  than  you  think.  I feel  much 
better  this  morning,  and  my  brain  is  clear  enough  to 
advise  you.  Tell  me,  daughter,  the  cause  of  your 
trouble,  that  I may  offer  such  balm  as  religion  can 
afford.” 

Thus  urged,  Mrs.  Courtnay  briefly  informed  him  of 
Claire’s  elopement,  and  read  to  him  the  letter  she  had 
left  for  herself.  He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  brow, 
and  after  a few  moments  of  wandering  thought, 
brought  to  his  memory  the  events  of  the  evening  on 
which  he  had  been  seized  with  illness.  He  said  : 

It  is  right  that  Claire  should  go  with  her  husband, 
though  why  she  has  gone  off  in  this  clandestine  man- 
ner I am  unable  to  understand.  She  told  you  of  what 
took  j)lace  in  my  cottage  on  that  night  before  I 
fainted.” 

“ She  told  me  nothing.  Father ; her  course  through- 
out has  been  one  of  deceit.  To  what  do  you  re- 
fer? Surely — surely  did  not  lend  yourself  to  the 

service  of  these  young  people,  and  then  conceal  it 
from  me  ! But  pardon  me,  I forget  that  you  have  not 
been  in  a condition  to  speak  of  this  since  that  night.” 

No  ” — was  the  faint  reply.  ‘‘  I have  been  lying 
as  one  in  a trance  since  that  day  ; but  they  came  to  me 
assuring  me  of  the  consent  to  their  union  given  byTVT. 
hapierre  before  his  death,  and  I was  weak  enough  to 
believe  that  I was  serving  the  good  cause  by  uniting 
them.  1 was  gaining  a son  to  the  church,  for  Mr. 
Thorne  made  his  marriage  a condition  of  becoming  0110 


262 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


of  US.  I thought  any  means  justifiable  to  save  a hu- 
man soul,  and  Claire  will  keep  him  in  the  path  that 
leads  to  salvation.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  listened  with  surprise  and  chagrin  to 
this  explanation ; but  it  relieved  her  of  her  darkest 
fear  on  Claire’s  account.  She  quickly  asked  : 

‘‘Will  the  marriage  stand  any  scrutiny,  Father? 
Should  Mr.  Thorne  find  it  convenient  to  repudiate  it, 
will  not  Claire  be  able  to  prove  its  validity  ? There 
could  have  been  no  license,  and  no  witnesses  were 
present.” 

The  sick  man  proudly  replied  : 

“ The  service  of  the  church  will  suffice  to  a true  be- 
lieve^ and  I think  Mr.  Thorne  was  sincere  in  his  pro- 
fession of  our  faith.  He  will  not  dare  to  cast  off  the 
wife  wedded  to  hyn  with  all  the  forms.  The  ceremony 
is  binding,  even  without  such  legal  securities  as  men 
have  invented.  ‘ Whom  God  hath  joined  together,  let 
no  man  put  asunder.’  Is  not  that  sufficient  ? You^  at 
least,  should  believe  it,  my  daughter.” 

“ I do.  Father  ; but  if  this  young  man  should  prove 
recreant  to  the  vows  he  has  taken,  what  redress  would 
this  young  girl  have?  Should  you  not  recover,  she 
may  be  placed  in  a most  wretched  and  helpless  posi- 
tion.” 

“ Why  should  you  imagine  such  a possibility  ? Mr. 
Thorne  seemed  an  earnest  and  true  man,  and  he  was 
madly  in  love  with  Claire.” 

“ I think  the  last  myself,  but  such  passions  are  apt 
to  exhaust  themselves  quickly,  and  he  may  soon  tire 
of  her.  I feel  assured,  now,  that  he  has  deceived  us 
as  to  the  consent  given  to  his  marriage  by  his  father. 
If  his  statements  had  been  true,  or  if  he  had  intended 


FATHER  JEROME. 


263 


lO  act  honorably  by  Claire,  lie  would  not  have  con- 
cealed their  union  from  me  when  I no  longer  possess- 
ed the  power  to  prevent  it.  Nor  would  he  have  ex- 
acted from  his  wife  that  she  should  not  refer  to  it  in 
her  letter  to  me.  Did  you  not  remark  that  she  speaks 
.t  becoming  his  wife  : she  does  not  state  that  she  is 
already  such.” 

‘•But,  my  friend,  that  is  unfair  to  the  young  man. 
FJe  showed  me  letters  which  proved  the  truth  of  all 
his  statements,  and  I am  unwilling  to  attribute  to  him 
such  turpitude  as  you  hint  at.  Claire  has  no  fortune, 
but  she  is  of  good  family,  and  quite  his  equal  in  other 
respects.  Why  then  should  you  doubt  his  honorable 
intentions  ? ” 

“ I may  be  wrong  to  do  so,  and  I will  hope  for  the 
best ; compose  yourself,  Father,  for  you  are  becoming 
too  much  excited.  When  you  are  stronger,  I will  get 
you  to  give  me  a written  certificate  that  the  ceremony 
of  marriage  was  performed  by  you,  and  that  may  help 
to  keep  Mr.  Thorne  true  to  his  pledges.” 

“ I will  give  it  to  you.  Let  me  be  propped  up,  and 
writing  materials  placed  before  me.  I will  at  least  per- 
form this  act  of  justice  before  I die.” 

The  young  priest  was  summoned  from  the  next  room, 
wliere  he  was  resting  upon  his  night  watch  by  his 
friend,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay  went  in  search  of  what  was 
required. 

She  soon  returned,  but  in  that  brief  interval  a sud- 
den reaction  had  taken  place,  and  Father  Jerome  lay 
white  and  nearly  insensible  upon  his  pillows.  Every 
effort  was  made  to  restore  him,  but  he  sunk  from  that 
moment,  and  never  rallied  before  his  death,  which  toot 
place  a few  days  later. 


264 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ANDREW  COURTNAY’S  FURY. 

IT  was  much  to  Mrs.  Courtnay  to  know  that  Claire 
had  not  abandoned  her  protection  till  a husband 
possessed  the  right  to  command  her  to  follow  him,  but 
she  bitterly  regretted  that  proof  of  the  marriage  in 
some  tangible  form  had  not  come  into  her  possession. 
A vague  dread  that  Thorne  intended  to  act  unfairly  by 
his  mysteriously  wedded  bride  would  remain  in  her 
mind,  and  she  watched  and  waited  for  some  com- 
munication from  the  fugitive  with  a solicitude  that 
could  scarcely  have  been  greater  had  Claire  been  her 
own  daughter.  She  could  not  write  herself,  for  no  clue 
had  been  afforded  to  the  place  to  which  they  had 
gone,  and  she  was  compelled  to  suppress  her  anxiety 
as  she  best  could.  A boy  was  sent  regularly  to  the 
post-office  several  miles  distant  for  letters,  but  four 
weeks  rolled  by  before  one  came.  The  postmark  was 
Richmond,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay  eagerly  tore  open  the 
envelope,  and  read  the  following  lines  from  Claire : 

“ Richmond,  October  15,  18 . 

Dear,  Dearest  Mamma  : — I should  have  writ- 
ten to  you  before,  but  Walter  would  not  permit  me  to 
betray  the  place  of  our  temporary  residence  till  we  were 
on  the  eve  of  leaving  it.  He  is  the  dearest  and  most 
devoted  of  husbands,  but  he  is  a little  imperious  in  his 
ways,  and  you  know  it  is  my  duty  to  obey  him.  It  is 
also  my  pleasure  to  do  so,  for  he  is  all  the  world  to 
me. 


ANDKEW  COURTNAY’S  FURY. 


265 


“ How  complete  is  his  power  over  me  you  may  be 
able  to  comprehend  when  it  induced  me  to  abandon 
you  and  my  darling  Julia,  to  go  out  with  himiiito  that 
world  of  which  I was  so  ignorant.  Pardon  that  de- 
sertion, dear  mamma,  and  believe  that  my  heart  was 
saddened  by  remorse  for  the  part  I was  compelled  to 
play. 

When  I have  your  forgiveness  I shall  regret  noth- 
ing in  the  past,  for  I have  gained  everything  by  con- 
forming to  the  will  of  my  husband.  He  devotes  him- 
self to  me — he  loads  me  with  beautiful  presents,  and 
shows  me  everything  that  can  interest  or  improve  me  ; 
and  his  refusal  to  permit  me  to  write  to  you  before  this 
was  occasioned  by  his  fear  that  you  might  send  some 
one  in  pursuit  of  us  to  intrude  on  the  charming  se- 
clusion of  our  honeymoon. 

‘‘We  came  directly  to  Richmond  and  took  lodgings 
with  a widow  lady  living  on  Shoco  Hill,  who  has  a 
lovely  home,  embowered  in  trees  and  foliage.  Her 
family  consists  of  herself  and  two  small  children,  and 
she  was  glad  to  give  up  two  of  the  best  rooms  in  her 
house  for  the  liberal  price  offered  by  W alter. 

“We  were  at  the  hotel  but  two  days,  and  we  lived 
there  very  privately,  till  my  husband  found  this  charm- 
ing nest  of  bloom  and  verdure.  From  our  windows 
we  have  a view  of  the  city  lying  below  us,  with  the  ro- 
mantic river  beyond  foaming  and  struggling  over 
ledges  of  rock,  and  on  the  opposite  shore  the  pretty 
town  of  Manchester. 

“ There  is  nothing  to  remind  me  of  the  wild  moun- 
tain glen  in  which  I have  passed  my  life,  but  there  is 
much  to  charm  and  delight  me.  There  is  an  old 
brick  church  on  a neighboring  hill  to  which  it  gives 


266  'ihe  clandestine  make. age. 


its  name,  which  was  built  before  the  revolutionary  war, 
and  the  grass-grown  yard  that  surrounds  it  is  filled 
with  the  graves  of  those  who  have  long  since  passed 
away.  I Avent  there  once,  but  Walter  thinks  it  too 
gloomy  a place  to  visit  a second  time,  and  our  rambles 
are  taken  in  another  direction. 

Such  long  and  charming  Avalks  as  we  enjoy ! how 
my  heart  swells  with  thankful  joy  as  I lean  upon  his 
arm,  and  listen  to  his  dear  voice,  discoursing  with  that 
eloquence  with  which  even  you  have  been  charmed. 

Col.  Thorne  wishes  him  to  enter  political  life,  and 
if  he  does  I am  sure  he  will  soon  be  known  as  one  of 
the  finest  in  the  land.  Think  how  proud  I am  that 
this  gifted,  noble  being  has  chosen  me,  insignificant  as 
I am,  as  the  companion  of  his  life — the  sharer  of  his 
future  greatness.  What  can  I offer  him  in  return  but 
the  entire  devotion  of  my  life  ? 

“ I would  make  any  sacrifice  to  prove  my  devotion 
to  him  ; yet  why  should  I speak  of  sacrifices,  when 
Walter  asks  none — would  accept  of  none  from  the  be- 
ing he  wishes  to  screen  from  every  sorrow,  from  every 
danger.  If  you  could  witness  his  tender  care  for  me 
you  would  be  satisfied  that  my  happiness  is  safe  in  his 
keeping,  and  you  would  admit  that  I have  done  well 
to  trust  my  future  in  his^gentle  hands. 

‘‘Dear  mamma,  think  kindly  of  Walter,  though  he 
did  steal  your  adopted  child  from  you.  Remember 
that  it  was  to  croAvn  her  with  perfect  bliss  that  he  was 
guilty  of  that  treachery,  and  pardon  him  for  the  sake 
of  the  little  Avife  he  seems  so  proud  of.  Yes — I am 
happy  ; there  Avill  not  be  a cloud  on  my  horizon  Avhen 
I am  assured  of  your  forgh-eness  ; so  hasten  to  send  ii 
to  me  as  soon  as  you  receive  this. 


ANDREW  COURTNAY'S  FURY.  267 

“ Walter  has  taken  me  to  see  the  capitol,  and  there 
f saw  the  statue  of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  por- 
traying tliQ  grand  and  noble  lineaments  of  the  greatest 
and  best  of  men.  There  is  also  one  of  La  Fayette, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  a good  likeness,  but  the 
gallant  Frenchman  looks  like  a common  mortal  w'hen 
brought  in  comparison  with  the  serene  grandeur  of 
our  countryman. 

‘‘We  often  linger  in  the  beautiful  grounds  around 
the  capitol,  and  Walter  has  been  reading  to  me  the 
history  of  the  times  that  ‘ tried  the  souls  ’ of  all  good 
patriots.  He  finds  my  mind  full  of  poetry  and  non- 
sense, and  he  is  endeavoring  to  lay  a foundation  for 
something  more  solid.  I listen  to  him  with  devout 
attention,  but  I am  afraid  that  my  thoughts  too  often 
wander  from  the  subject  to  the  beloved  reader ; my 
vagrant  fancy  busies  itself  with  picturing  the  beautiful 
future  that  lies  before  us,  and  I please  myself  with  im- 
agining the  triumphs  his  genius  will  some  day  attain. 

He  paints  a little,  too,  for  he  is  taking  another 
portrait  of  me  ; I think  he  must  have  idealized  my 
head  a little,  for  I cannot  be  so  lovely  as  the  creature 
that  glows  upon  his  canvas.  Walter  scouts  that  sug- 
gestion though,  and  insists  that  he  has  made  a failure  ; 
that  he  can  never  transfer  to  his  picture  the  animation 
of  my  mobile  face.  I hope  you  will  see  it  some  day 
and  judge  which  one  of  us  is  right. 

‘‘  Our  honeymoon  is  nearly  over,  alas  ! but  if  fate 
should  maliciously  deny  me  the  perfect  happiness  I 
anticipate  in  the  days  to  come,  I shall  at  least  be  able 
to  look  back  upon  these  precious  weeks  as  a golden 
reflection  from  Heaven.  Walter  has  even  made  me  at 
times,  forget  that  such  a cloud  as  your  displeasure  lin- 


•268  the  cl  akdesti^^e  marriage. 

gers  on  my  horizon.  Lift  that  from  my  heart,  beloved 
mamma,  and  T shall  go  on  my  way  serene  as  the  sun- 
shine that  falls  around  me  on  this  lovely  morning. 

I half  sigh  however,  when  I think  how  soon  we 
must  leave  this  fairy  spot,  which  will  always  be  en- 
chanted ground  to  me  as  the  scene  of  our  first  wedded 
experience.  Yet  I am  glad  to  go  to  my  future  home 
— to  behold  all  the  fine  and  beautiful  things  of  which 
I am  to  be  the  mistress. 

Thornhill  is  a magnificent  residence,  Walter  tells 
me,  and  the  old  gentleman  is  impatient  to  have  a 
youthful  mistress  established  over  it.  I do  not  know 
how  1 shall  bear  myself  in  those  unaccustomed  scenes, 
but  I am  trying  to  assume  the  dignity  of  a matron  be- 
fore I am  introduced  to  my  father-in-law.  I rather 
dread  the  ordeal,  for  Walter  admits  that  Col.  Thorne 
is  a man  of  odd  temper,  and  sometimes  difficult  to 
please.  He  is  good  enough  to  say,  though,  that  he 
has  no  doubt  I shall  win  my  way  to  his  favor  as  readily 
as  I liave  to  his  own  heart.  I am  afraid  that  Walter 
asserts  this  only  to  keep  up  my  courage,  but  I shall  do 
my  best,  and  make  every  effort  to  please  the  old  gen- 
tleman for  his  son’s  dear  sake. 

By  the.  time  this  reaches  you  we  shall  be  on  our 

way  to  L , and  your  reply  must  be  sent  to  me 

there,  under  cover  to  Walter.  Dear  mamma,  I en- 
treat that  you  will  write  at  once,  and  gladden  my 
heart  by  a full  and  free  pardon  for  all  the  uneasiness  I 
have  made  j^ou  suffer  on  my  account. 

“ I hope  by  this  time  that  Father  Jerome  is  quite 
restored,  as  he  seemed  to  be  improving  before  I left. 
Kiss  Julia  for  me  a score  of  times,  and  remember  me 
to  all  the  servants. 


ANDKEW  COURTS  AY’S  FURY. 


269 


‘‘Walter  Avill  add  a few  lines  to  this  long  epistle, 
and  I leave  him  to  say  all  that  he  wishes  for  himself. 

“ Your  grateful  and  attached, 

“Claire  Lapierre  Thorne,” 

“ P.  S. — i sign  my  name  in  full,  because  it  is  the 
first  time  I have  had  occasion  to  write  it,  and  I wished 
to  see  how  it  would  look.” 

In  a dashing,  free  hand  Thorne  had  added  these 
lines  : 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Courtnay,  I flatter  myself  that  you 
will  forgive  me  for  stealing  your  pet  from  you,  when 
you  learn  how  happy  she  is  in  the  new  life  to  which  I 
have  introduced  her. 

“ We  have  enjoyed  a brief  interlude  of  Eden 
blessedness  which  I shall  always  gratefully  remember  ; 
but  all  things  must  come  to  an  end  and  life’s  duties 
will  no  longer  permit  me  to  dally  longer  in  this  Armi- 
da’s  bower.  I have  made  a sketch  of  the  exquisite 
cottage  home  in  which  we  have  passed  the  last  four 
weeks,  and  I have  had  it  framed  to  be  forwarded  to 
you  as  a peace  offering. 

“ You  will  detect  a figure  robed  in  white,  standing 
in  the  sunshine  that  glints  through  the  trees,  and  you 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  identifying  it  as  the  darling 
of  both  our  hearts. 

“ It  is  necessary  for  us  to  leave  this  place  in  a few 
more  da3^s,  for  my  father  is  becoming  impatient  at  my 
long  absence,  and  I must  hasten  to  make  my  peace 
with  him  by  presenting  to  him  the  gem  of  which  I 
robbed  \^ou.  Pardon  me  for  makine  such  a return  for 
your  hospitaiit}^  but  the  temptation  was  irresistible. 


270 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


and  you  were  so  immovable  that  no  other  alternative 
was  left  me. 

‘‘  It  will  be  best  for  Claire’s  letters  to  come,  for  a 
season  under  cover  to  me.  I cannot  explain  why  at 
present,  but  j^ou  shall  soon  know  my  reasons,  and  also 
how  your  protegee  prospers  in  her  new  sphere. 

With  the  highest  sentiments  of  esteem,  I am 
yours  respectfully,  W.  Thorne. 

Mrs.  Courtnaj^  read  these  letters  over  twice,  and 
pondered  long  upon  the  last.  She  remarked  with  a 
feeling  of  discontent  that  Thorne  never  referred  to 
Claire  as  his  wife,  though  she  called  him  her  husband, 
and  doubtless  believed  herself  as  securely  wedded  to 
him  as  if  a dozen  witnesses  had  been  present  at  their 
espousals.  She  accused  herself  of  becoming  suspicious, 
but  she  admitted  that  there  was  cause  to  doubt  the 
fairness  of  his  proceedings,  since  he  was  unwilling  to 
permit  Claire’s  letters  to  be  sent  openly  to  her  under 
her  new  name. 

If  Thorne’s  assertions  respecting  his  father  were 
true,  why  was  this  precaution  necessary  ? She  reluc- 
tantly came  to  the  conclusion  that  a battle  would  have 
to  be  fought  between  the  father  and  son  before  the 
young  wife  could  be  received  in  the  paternal  home. 
That  Claire  was  perfectly  unsuspicious  of  the  decep- 
tion he  had  practised,  w^as  evident  from  the  tenor  of 
her  letter  ; and  judging  Walter  Thorne  from  that  fact 
alone,  so  high-toned  a Avoman  as  Mrs.  Courtnay  could 
arrive  at  but  one  conclusion  ; that  the  agreeable  man 
of  the  world  had  few  scruples  where  a question  of  self- 
gratification w^as  involved,  and  she  regretted  more  bit- 
terly than  ever  that  Claire  had  ever  taken  so  false  a 
step  at  the  commencement  of  her  life. 


ANDREW  OOURTNAyS  FURY. 


271 


Mrs.  Courtnay  was  very  sad,  in  spite  of  the  joyous 
tenor  of  Claire’s  letter  ; she  felt  it  impossible  to  with- 
hold  for  a single  day  the  forgiveness  she  so  sweetly 
implored, — for  the  poor  child  might  need  it  to  console 
her  for  the  unlooked-for  difficulties  into  which  she  was 
about  to  plunge. 

She  went  to  her  desk  and  dashed  off  a few  lines, 
intending  to  write  more  fully  when  she  felt  more  in 
the  mood.  She  wrote  : 

“ Grange,  October  25, 18 . 

My  Dear  Child. — I freely  send  you  my  forgive- 
ness, and  hope  that  it  will,  indeed,  lift  from  3"Our  life 
the  only  cloud  that  rests  upon  your  perfect  happiness ; 
that  it  may  continue,  and  increase,  is  my  ardent  prayer. 

Father  Jerome  is  indeed  better,  for  he  is  in  the 
home  of  the  blessed,  ministered  to  by  angels.  He  re- 
vived sufficiently  to  explain  your  abrupt  departure,  by 
assuring  me  that  he  had  himself  bestowed  on  Mr. 
Thorne  the  right  to  command  you  to  go  with  him. 
He  told  me  of  what  took  place  in  his  cottage  on  the 
night  of  his  seizure  ; I can  only  account  for  the  de- 
ception he  countenanced,  by  the  partial  failure  of  his 
mind,  for  I do  nob  think  it  was  well  done  to  solemnize 
the  marriage  ceremony  in  a clandestine  manner,  and  so 
informally,  so  far  as  the  laws  of  the  land  we  live  in 
are  concerned. 

Of  course,  as  a true  Catholic,  Mr.  Thorne  must 
feel  as  much  bound  to  you  as  if  a hundred  witnesses 
were  present,  but  I should  have  been  much  better  satis- 
fied if  every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  render  your 
union  indissoluble. 

“ Pardon  these  doubts,  but  Mr.  Thorne’s  course  to- 


272  the  clandestin’e  makkiage. 

wards  myself  has  not  been  such  as  to  inspire  me 
with  perfect  confidence  in  him.  I consent,  hovvmver, 
to  judge  him  by  his  future  conduct  toward  you,  and 
if  he  continues  to  render  you  happy  in  the  lot  you 
have  embraced,  I will  gladly  suffer  the  past  to  be  buried 
in  oblivion. 

‘‘  Should  you  need  a friend,  remember  that,  in  spite 
of  your  desertion,  I shall  always  be  ready  to  stand  by 
you,  and  sustain  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 

“ Your  affectionate  friend, 

“ Julia  Courtnay.” 

These  lines  she  enclosed  in  the  following  reply  to 
Thorne  : 

“Grange,  October  25th,  18 . 

Mr.  Thorne. — As  you  desired,  I send  Mrs. 
Thorne's  letter  under  cover  to  yourself,  but  the  neces- 
sity of  such  a precaution  fills  me  with  doubt  and  fear 
as  to  the  reception  she  is  likely  to  meet  with  from  your 
father.^’ 

‘‘  You  led  me  to  believe  that  he  desired  to  see  you 
speedily  married,  and  cared  little  on  whom  your  choice 
might  fall,  provided  your  wife  was  presentable,  and 
well  connected.  I hope  you  told  me  the  truth,  that 
the  letters  you  exhibited  were  genuine  ; for  if  thej 
were  not  I can  think  of  no  height  nor  depth  of  treach- 
ery of  which  you  could  not  be  capable. 

I will  not  dilate  on  this  subject,  for  it  is  too 
painful  to  me,  and  too  humiliating  to  you.  Father 
Jerome  is  dead,  but  he  informed  me  of  the  marriage  be- 
fore he  expired : he  would  have  left  written  proof  of 
it,  had  time  been  granted  him ; but  it  was  not.  I tell 
you  this  to  show  you  how  entirely  my  poor  child  is 


ANDREW  COURTNAY^S  FURY. 


273 


thrown  upon  your  honor.  Oh  ! be  true  to  the  vows 
you  have  plighted  to  her,  and  shield  her  from  the 
ehects  of  your  own  imprudence. 

“ If  my  surmises  with  reference  to  your  father’s  op- 
position to  your  unworldly  choice  are  correct,  you  will 
be  tempted  to  cast  Claire  off  to  regain  his  favor  ; but 
I will  not  think  that  you  could  be  capable  of  such  a 
wrong  as  that.  You  seemed  to  adore  her,  and  you 
will  not  break  her  heart,  for  she  is  as  utterly  devoted 
to  you  as  one  human  being  can  be  to  another,  and  she 
would  scarcely  survive  a separation  from  you. 

I fear  that  I have  said  too  much,  but  you  will  ex- 
cuse it  as  the  offspring  of  my  solicitude  for  the  dear 
girl  I have  loved  so  long,  and  cared  for  as  if  she  were 
my  daughter. 

Your  friend  or  foe,  as  you  shall  deal  by  h(3r, 

Julia  Courtnay.” 

A few  days  after  these  letters  were  dispatched  a 

box  was  sent  over  from  S , in  which  was  packed 

the  picture  to  Avhich  Thorne  had  referred.  Mrs. 
Courtnay  had  it  taken  out,  and  set  up  against  the  wall 
for  examination,  and  she  was  surveying  it  with  criti- 
cal eyes,  when  she  heard  the  sounds  of  an  arrival.  A 
well-known  step  sounded  through  the  hall,  and  in  sur- 
prise and  dismay,  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  son,  ask- 
ing where  she  was  to  be  found. 

She  had  given  Andrew  permission  to  pass  his  sum- 
mer vacation  in  a pedestrian  tour  through  Maryland, 
and  a portion  of  southern  Virginia,  but  by  this  lime 
slie  supposed  he  had  returned  to  Charlotteville  to  re- 
sume his  studies  with  the  new  term.  She  was  annoyed 
17 


274  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE, 


and  rather  alarmed  to  find  him  under  her  roof  when  he 
should  have  been  in  his  class. 

The  door  was  thrown  wide,  and  a slender  youth  of 
about  twenty  years  of  age  entered  the  room.  He  bore 
no  resemblance  to  his  mother,  for  his  complexion  was 
very  dark,  his  features  delicately  and  sharply  cut,  with 
deep-set  eyes,  of  a bluish  grey  that  contrasted  some- 
what weirdly  with  his  olive  skin  and  lustreless  black 
hair  and  eyebrows. 

His  thin  lips  were  strongly  compressed,  and  the 
stormy  expression  of  his  face  did  not  relax  when  he 
saw  his  mother  advancing  to  greet  him.  She  anxiously 
asked : 

My  dear  boy,  what  has  brought  you  home  at  such 
an  unusual  time  as  this  ? Though  T am  always  glad 
to  see  you,  I must  disapprove  of  your  breaking  off 
from  your  studies  in  this  abrupt  manner.” 

Andrew  put  out  his  hands  to  take  the  one  she  offer- 
ed him,  but  withdrew  it  again  almost  with  a gesture 
of  repulsion,  as  he  bitterly  said  : 

“ It  does  not  matter  where  I am,  madam,  for  I am 
in  no  state  now  to  give  my  mind  to  study.  I am  better 
here  than  where  I should  disgrace  myself  by  neglect- 
ing everything  that  would  be  required  of  me.” 

Why,  what  can  have  happened  to  you,  my  son  ? ” 
Mrs.  Courtnay  apprehensively  inquired.  “ Have  you 
got  into  another  difficulty  with  the  professors  ? I 
hoped  that  you  had  sown  all  your  wild  oats  and  meant 
to  devote  5^ourself  to  your  studies.” 

He  looked  at  her  with  a faint,  defiant  smile,  and 
said  : 

‘‘  I would  have  done  that — I would  have  made  every 
effort  to  gain  your  approbation,  if  you  had  not  played 


ANDREW  COURTNAY’S  FURY. 


27S 


me  false.  You  know  to  what  I looked  as  a reward 
for  steadiness  and  application  ; yet,  in  my  absence,  you 
have  permitted  a stranger  to  enter  your  house  and  bear 
from  it  the  pearl  of*  my  life.  Was  this  well  done, 
mother  ? Why  was  I kept  in  ignorance  of  what  was 
going  on  here  unless  it  was  to  serve  your  own  purpose 
by  placing  an  impassable  barrier  between  Claire  and 
myself?” 

Thus  brusquely  arraigned,  Mrs.  Courtnay  coldly  re- 
plied : 

I had  no  voice  in  the  arrangement  of  Claire’s  mar- 
riage— it  was  secretly  solemnised,  and  she  eloped  with 
Mr.  Thorne.  I did  not  mention  it  in  my  letters  to 
you,  because  I did  not  wish  your  mind  to  be  disturbed 
by  news  which  I knew  would  be  painful  to  you.  How 
have  you  learned  anything  about  it  ? ” 

Andrew  passionately  said : 

‘‘  I have  seen  her,  but  only  for  a moment.  I was 
loitering  on  the  public  road,  on  my  way  to  Richmond, 
when  a stage  passed  me,  from  the  window  of  which 
Claire  was  looking.  I knew  her  in  a moment,  and  I 
shouted  to  the  driver  to  stop  ; but  he  only  laughed, 
and  called  back  : 

‘ All  full,  youngster — no  room  for  wayside  pas- 
sengers.’ 

“ He  cut  his  horses  and  dashed  on,  though  Claire 
confirmed  my  recognition  by  kissing  her  hand  to  me, 
and  she  pointed  to  the  fellow  that  sat  beside  her,  who 
looked  so  well  pleased  that  I could  have  killed  him.  I 
never  knew  till  that  moment  how  dear  she  was  to  me, 
but  when  I saw  that  carriage  rolling  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, bearing  her  from  me  forever,  I felt  as  if  all  joy, 
all  hope,  all  ambition  went  with  her.  I left  my  compan- 


276  the  clandestine  marriage. 

lons  and  came  hither  as  soon  as  I recovered  from  illness 
that  attacked  me  on  the  way,  to  ask  you  to  explain 
why  you  have  permitted  so  great  a wrong  to  me  to  be 
consummated.  You  have  long  known  what  Claire  was 
to  me,  yet  you  have  received  that  man  in  your  house 
— 3^ou  must  have  encouraged  his  pretensions,  or  he 
would  never  have  dared  to  snatch  from  me  my  heart’s 
darling.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  began  to  comprehend  now  what  she 
liad  not  before  suspected — that  the  childish  love  of  her 
son  for  his  pretty  playmate  had  become  the  absorbing 
passion  of  his  life.  She  had  not  believed  that,  at  his 
age,  the  feeling  could  have  struck  so  deep,  and  she 
listened  in  alarm  to  the  passionate  vibrations  of  his 
voice. 

Andrew  had  a diflBcult  temper  to  deal  with,  for  he 
was  both  tenacious  and  resentful,  and  for  many  reasons 
she  had  been  unwilling  to  allow  his  childisli  romance  to 
have  any  other  ending  than  the  one  which  had  so 
abruptly  come.  Jealous,  violent,  and  haughty,  she 
knew  that  few  women  could  be  happy  as  his  wife,  and 
she  deprecated  the  thought  of  his  uniting  his  fate 
with  that  of  another  fire  spirit ; for,  in  spite  of  Claire’s 
loveableness,  she  knew  that  in  her  nature  lay  unde- 
.veloped  traits  which  would  spring  into  active  and  bane- 
ful life  under  such  treatment  as  Andrew  would  give 
even  to  one  he  loved. 

Better  a disappointment,  she  thought,  than  life-long 
wretchedness  through  an  unsuitable  marriage,  and  from 
this  conviction  had  arisen  her  tacit  encouragement  of 
Thorne’s  suit.  To  soothe  and  reconcile  this  impetu- 
ous, and  often  unreasonable  being,  was  now  her  task*, 
and,  as  she  looked  into  his  dark  face,  instinct  with 


AISTDREW  COURTKAY’S  FURi:.  277 

passion  and  pride,  she  felt  how  difficult  of  accomplish- 
ment it  would  be.  She  gently  said : 

‘^My  dear  Andrew,  do  not  blame  me  for  what  has 
happened.  Mr.  Thorne  met  with  a severe  accident 
in  entering  the  valley  through  the  gorge  above  the 
Lady’s  Tarn.  He  came  near  losing  his  life,  and  lay  ill 
several  days  at  M.  Lapierre’s  house.  It  was  then  that 
the  attachment  was  formed  which  has  led  to  such  an 
unhappy  result.  After  her  father’s  death,  Claire  came 
to  me.  Mr.  Thorne  was  already  my  guest,  as  I had 
asked  him  here  for  the  purpose  of  separating  him  from 
my  god-child.  I could  not  refuse  him  the  hospitality 
of  my  house,  and  I did  not  dream  that  he  would  abuse 
it  in  the  manner  he  did.  I made  every  effort  to  retain 
Claire  with  me,  and  her  secret  marriage  was  as  dis- 
pleasing to  me  as  it  seems  to  be  to  you.  But  since  it 
is  irrevocable  we  must  reconcile  ourselves  to  it.” 

Andrew  almost  savagely  replied : 

‘‘  As  if  that  were  possible  ! I remember  that  you 
wrote  something  to  me  about  a fellow  being  nearly 
swept  into  the  tarn,  and  I suppose  it  was  he.  I wish 
to  God  that  he  had  gone  down,  down  into  the  tideless 
water,  never  to  be  seen  among  men  again ! It  had 
been  better  fate,  perhaps,  than  the  one  that  may  over- 
take him  yet.” 

His  mother  looked  into  his  agitated  face,  and,  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  firmly  said  : 

‘‘  That  threat  must  be  an  empty  one,  Andrew.  If 
you  love  Claire,  or  care  for  her  happiness,  you  can 
never  seek  to  injure  the  man  with  whom  she  was  so 
deepl}^^  infatuated  as  to  forsake  her  home,  and  every 
friend  she  possessed  in  the  world,  to  go  with  him.  You 
feel  this  bitterly  now,  but  your  pride  will  soon  teach 


278  the  clandestine  marriage. 

you  to  forget  a girl  who  has  preferred  another  before 
you.” 

“ Oh,  mother,  you  don’t  know  how  bitter  it  is  to 
have  the  sweetest  hope  of  a young  life  suddenly 
wrenched  away ! ” and  his  voice,  which  had  been  hard, 
suddenly  broke,  and  a burning  tear  rolled  down  bis 
cheek.  I could  take  the  life  of  this  man  who  has 
rivalled  me,  and  never  feel  a regret  for  doing  it.  But 
of  what  avail  would  that  be  ? I should  only  make 
Claire  hate  me.  I hope  he  will  be  as  false  to  her  as  he 
Avas  ro  you  when  he  stole  her  from  you.  I hope  he 
will  estrange  her  heart  bj^  unkindness  till  it  is  forced 
to  turn  to  me  for  consolation.  Don’t  look  at  me  so. 
I do  hope  it,  and  Claire  deserves  such  retribution  for 
forsaking  those  who  so  truly  loA^ed  her,  to  run  off  witli 
him.” 

Andrew,  my  dear  son,  do  not  speak  thus,  I en- 
treat,” remonstrated  his  mother.  If  Ave  all  met  our 
deserts  think  v^hat  a howling  Avilderness  of  pain  and 
despair  this  bright  and  beautiful  Avorld  would  be.  Re- 
member the  French  proverb,  ‘ that  curses,  like  chick- 
ens, come  home  to  roost,’  and  refrain  from  invoking 
them  on  our  poor,  thoughtless  refugee.” 

‘‘  If  the  curse  would  only  take  the  form  of  Claire, 
and  she  Avould  come  back  to  us  lialf  broken-hearted 
by  that  felloAv’s  barbarity,  I could  do  nothing  but  re- 
joice, for  then  I might  be  able  to  console  her.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  gravely  shook  her  head. 

She  Avonld  only  be  more  Avidely  severed  from  you 
than  ever,  my  poor  boy.  Give  her  up  as  lost  to  you 
for  ever,  AndreAv,  and  seek  to  uproot  every  fibre  of  the 
unfortunate  passion  you  have  cherished  for  her.  Claire 
would  neA^er  have  made  you  haupy  ; s>  i wasj  ni-»»5m'tp.d 


ANDREW  COURT  NAY’S  FURY.  279 

lo  yo\]  in  every  way ; but  I trust  that  with  the  man 
she  has  chosen  she  will  find  such  happiness  as  will  de- 
velop the  better  portion  of  her  wilful  nature,  and  leave 
its  darker  passions  unstirred.  If  you  really  care  for 
her,  you  wdll  pray  that  such  may  be  the  result  of  her 
[•recipitate  marriage.” 

Pray  ! ” he  scoffingly  repeated  ; pray  for  such  a 
consummation  as  that ! No — I am  not  such -a  muff!  I 
v ould  much  sooner  take  some  of  Old  David’s  male- 
dictions and  hurl  them  at  the  pair.  I only  hope  that 
their  fool’s  paradise  will  soon  come  to  an  end,  and  that 
Claire  will  think,  with  a sore  and  aching  heart,  of  the 
love-  she  slighted  and  ran  away  from.  I cannot  forgive 
her  ; neither  can  I help  loving  her,  and  hating  the 
man  she  prefers  to  me.  I would  like  to  punch  his 
head  for  him,  or  thrash  him  to  a jelly  for  his  presump- 
tion. If  I had  known  what  was  going  on  here.  I’d 
have  done  it,  too,  long  ago.” 

He  rose  from  the  seat  on  which  he  had  thrown  him- 
self, and  walked  to  and  fro,  in  much  excitement,  and 
his  mother  sat  pondering  in  pained  silence,  wondering 
what  to  him  would  be  the  result  of  this  bitter  disap- 
pointment. She  had  veiy  little  control  over  him,  for 
his  imperious  temper  had  always  mastered  her  when 
she  attempted  to  use  such  authority  as  she  possessed, 
and,  in  the  present  crisis  she  felt  certain  that  he  would 
set  it  entirely  at  naught,  if  she  made  an  effort  to  draw 
the  rein  ever  so  slightly. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  picture  which  Mrs. 
Courtnay  had  set  up  in  a good  light.  He  recognized 
the  figure  of  Claire  at  a glance,  and,  with  a tiger-like 
bound  toward  it,  he  exclaimed  : 

‘‘  Who  painted  that  ? Who  dared  to  send  back  the 
shadow  when  the  reality  h^s  vanished  ?” 


280  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Mr.  Thorne  is  an  amateur  artist;  that  picture  is 
his  work,  and  it  only  came  to  me  this  morning.  He 
sent  it  as  a peace  offering.” 

Andrew  glared  at  it  with  his  strange  looking  eyes, 
from  which  fire  seemed  actually  to  scintillate.  With 
bitter  emphasis  he  said : 

“Love  has  taught  the  artist  a good  lesson  at  all 
events.  Small  as  that  figure  is,  no  one  who  has  once 
seen  Claire  would  fail  to  recognize  the  grace  and  har- 
mony of  her  person.  Even  the  tiny  face  is  full  of  life 
and  expression.  But  the  eyes  ! I never  saw  that  light 
in  them  before  ! God ! was  it  born  of  her  love  for  the 
painter  ! 

“ Had  she  ever  regarded  me  with  that  love-lit 
glance,  I should  have  gone  mad  with  joy,”  and  he  fast- 
ened his  burning  eyes  upon  the  brilliant  face,  as  if  he 
would  intoxicate  himself  with  its  marvellous  charm. 

Andrew  went  on  as  if  communing  with  himself : 

“ Doubtless,  that  flower-wreathed  cottage  was  the 
temple  of  their  love — those  shaded  paths  the  Eden  in 
which  they  wandered — my  idol  crowned  with  happi- 
ness by  another  hand  than  mine,  the  queen  of  those 
sylvan  shades.  But  for  how  long  will  that  royal  gift 
of  love  be  hers  ? Already  her  sceptre  may  have  de- 
parted, and  she  may  have  learned  that  her  hero,  her 
demi-god,  is  but  a clay  image,  with  hand  of  steel  and 
heart  of  stone.  I hope  it  will  be  so — I pray  that  it  may, 
for  then  she  will  return  to  me,  and  I — yes,  I will  con- 
sole her.” 

His  mother  tried  to  catch  the  sense  of  his  mutter- 
ings,  but  failed  to  do  so.  She  was  anxiously  regarding 
him,  Avhen  he  suddenly  turned  to  her  and  abruptly 
said : 


AISTDREW  COURTNAY’S  FURY. 


281 


‘‘Give  me  tliis,  and  I will  forgive  you  for  letting 
Claire  escape  from  your  guardianship.  If  it  was  paint- 
ed by  my  detested  rival,  I shall  value  it  as  no  one 
else  will.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  deprecatingly  said  : 

“ It  will  be  better  to  have  no  reminder  of  Claire 
near  you,  Andrew.  How  can  you  hope  to  forget  her 
if  that  picture  is  placed  where  you  can  see  it  every 
day  ? ” 

“ I don’t  intend  to  forget  her — I have  no  wish  to  do 
so,  and  I could  not  if  I wished  it  ever  so  much. 
Something  tells  me  that  we  have  not  lost  her  for  good. 
She  will  yet  come  back  to  us — I am  sure  ef  it.  Give 
me  the  picture — I have  the  best  right  to  it.” 

There  was  a latent  fierceness  in  his  Ijnes  which 
warned  his  mother  of  the  volcano  of  passu  n that  was 
ready  to  explode,  and  she  hurriedly  replied  ; 

“You  may  take  it  to  your  room  for  the  .^resent,  if 
you  wish  it ; but  as  it  was  a gift  to  me,  I u ^ not  feel 
justified  in  transferring  ifc  to  you.” 

He  seized  on  it  and,  going  toward  the  4*  with  a 
strange  smile,  said : 

“ Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law.  \\ave  it 
now,  and  when  you  will  get  it  back,  I canrie..  t'dl.  I 
will  have  the  shade  if  I cannot  possess  the  nvl\,tance 
— that’s  about  as  much  as  most  people  get  .'.i  this 
Avorld  of  wretched  mistakes  and  maddeninj;:  vlisap- 
pointments.  I am  going  to  my  room — don’t  bd  any 
one  come  near  me  ; keep  Julia  away — I mv^st  be  Vlone 
till — till — I have  mastered  my  own  heart.” 

He  left  the  apartment,  and  Mrs.  Courtnay  sat  Ljten- 
ing  till  he  slammed  the  door  of  his  chamber,  vhich 
was  above  the  room  in  wliich  she  sat.  She  hea'‘  1 his 


j 2 THE  CL  AIvTDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

rapid  feet  pacing  to  and  fro,  occasionally  stamping  on 
(lie  floor,  in  the  whirlwind  of  rage  and  passion  that 
moved  his  soul,  and  she  shivered  and  grew  pale  with 
dread. 

Julia,  who  had  been  out  walking  with  her  nurse, 
came  in  eager  to  see  her  brother,  and  it  was  with 
some  difficulty  that  she  was  prevented  from  going  up 
to  him.  But  the  child  was  tractable  and  easily  con- 
trolled, so  the  unhappy  mother  succeeded  in  keeping 
her  near  herself,  though  she  found  it  very  difficult  to 
explain  to  the  little  girl  why  she  was  not  to  go  up  and 
talk  with  Andrew,  when  she  had  not  seen  him  for  so 
long  a time. 

He  came  down  to  supper,  looking  quite  calm,  fon- 
dled Julia,  and  was  more  respectful  to  his  mother. 
Later  in  the  evening,  to  her  surprise  and  joy,  he  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  set  out  on  his  return  to  Char- 
lotteville  the  next  day. 

To  her  inquiring  look  he  abruptly  replied : 

I cannot  remain  here  to  devour  my  own  heart  in 
the  solitude  of  this  place.  I will  bury  myself  in  books 
till  the  spring  comes ; then  you  will  go  to  Europe,  as 
you  promised.  You  need  not  look  apprehensive, 
ma’am — I am  not  going  after  the  robber  who  has  ap- 
propriated the  precious  jewel  I left  in  your  charge.  T 
am  not  quite  s^uch  a z^xny  as  that.  It  will  come  back 
to  us  when  the  pinchbeck  setting  is  proved  worthless. 
I know  some  things  beforehand,  and  I have  a presenti- 
ment of  what  is  to  happen.  Runaway  matches  seldom 
end  well,  and  this  one  will  not  prove  one  of  the  excep- 
tions.” 

My  son,  I beg  that  you  will  not  predict  evil  to 
Claire,  and  exult,  as  you  seem  to  do,  in  the  hope  of  its 
accomplishm  ent.  ’ ’ 


ANDREW  COURTNAY'S  FURY. 


283 


* Andrew  laughed  hardly. 

“She  has  brought  evil  enough  to  me,  God  knows, 
and  tit  for  tat  is  fair  play.  But  we  won’t  renew  that 
subject,  mother  ; let  us  talk  of  something  more  agree- 
able. I will  tell  you  of  my  summer  tour,  for  I met 
with  some  amusing  adventures  in  my  rambles.  I 
should  have  looked  back  on  them  with  unmixed  pleas- 
ure but  for  the  meeting  that  abruptly  ended  all  enjoy- 
ment for  me.  I will  try,  however,  to  put  that  in  the 
background,  and  tell  you  what  preceded  it.” 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  away  more 
agreeably  than  Mrs.  Courtnay  had  dared  to  hope. 
She  was  amused  and  interested  by  the  details  given 
with  much  graphic  power  by  the  young  man.  At  a 
late  hour  they  separated ; and  when  she  awoke  the 
following  morning,  she  was  surprised  to  learn  that 
Andrew  had  been  gone  several  hours.  He  left  behind 
him  a note  for  herself,  which  only  contained  these 
words  : 

“ Dear  Mother  : — I shall  return  to  my  studies  at 
once,  and  try  to  regain  the  time  I have  lost,  but  you 
need  not  hope  that  I shall  distinguish  myself.  I shall 
no  longer  strive  to  do  so,  for  I have  lost  the  incentive 
that  spurred  me  on.  I take  with  me  the  only  inspira- 
tion that  can  give  me  courage  to  go  on  in  the  course 
you  have  marked  out  for  me — the  picture  of  Claire.  I 
may  madden  over  it  in  the  solitude  of  my  chamber, 
but  I should  oertainly  lose  my  reason  if  I left  it  behind 
me.  Andrew.” 

Thus  ended  his  brief  visit,  which  seemed  only  to 
have  been  made  to  bring  his  mother  to  an  account  for 


284  the  clandestine  marriage. 


the  part  she  had  taken  in  giving  a rival  the  opportuni- 
ty to  win  from  him  the  girl  of  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE  YELL  RENT  AWAY. 


T the  last  stage  of  his  journey  toward  L- 


Xjl  Thorne  left  the  public  conveyance  and  hired  a 
small  open  carriage,  in  which  he  could  drive  himself 
and  his  companion  on  to  his  father’s  house.  It  was 
but  ten  miles  from  the  point  at  which  he  stopped,  and 
the  afternoon  was  more  than  half  gone  before  he  was 
ready  to  set  out. 

He  lingered  at  the  stopping  place  longer  than  was 
required,  for  he  wished  to  get  to  Thornhill  after  night, 
as  he  had  many  painful  misgivings  as  to  the  reception 
he  might  meet,  and  he  began  to  dread  presenting  his 
companion  as  his  wife. 

As  the  inevitable  hour  of  trial  approached,  in  his 
heart  he  cursed  himself  as  the  most  egregious  of  fools 
for  the  part  he  had  played.  Now  that  the  object  of 
his  pursuit  was  won,  after  the  fashion  of  men  of  his 
stamp,  he  ceased  to  value  what  was  so  entirely  his 
own.  He  had  thrust  care  behind  him  and  enjoyed  a 
few  weeks  of  halcyon  bliss,  which  he  now  thought  had 
been  too  dearly  purchased  if  the  price  exacted  for 
them  was  to  be  his  father’s  favor  and  the  possible  loss 
of  his  inheritance. 

He  vainly  asked  himself  what  he  should  do  if  the  old 
Colonel  proved  inflexible.  He  could  decide  on  noth- 
ing till  that  first  momentous  interview  was  over,  and 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


285 


a cold  thrill  came  to  his  heart  as  he  thought  that  noth- 
ing less  would  appease  the  ire  of  Col.  Thorne  than  the 
sacrifice  of  the  confiding  being  who  sat  beside  him, 
perfectly  unconscious  that  her  advent  in  the  home  to 
which  he  was  taking  her  would  produce  a storm  that 
might  forever  wreck  her  bark  of  life. 

‘‘  Should  he  stand  by  her  through  everything?  ” was 
the  question  Thorne  asked  himself  more  than  once, 
but  he  could  find  no  reply  to  it.  His  love-dream 
had  been  very  sweet,  but  he  was  becoming  a little 
weary  of  its  monotony,  and  with  every  mile  they 
passed  over,  a slight  feeling  of  irritation  against  the 
hapless  cause  of  the  dilemma  in  which  he  found  him- 
self placed,  gained  ground. 

Claire  caught  a glimpse  of  his  knit  brows  and 
troubled  face,  and  she  paused  in  her  prattle  and  asked  : 

“ What  annoys  you,  Walter?  ” Are  you  afraid  that 
your  father  will  be  dissatisfied  with  me  ? I promise  to 
try  and  make  the  best  impression  on  him.  I am  so 
anxious  to  do  credit  to  your  choice,  that  I shall  make 
every  effort  to  please  him.” 

He  uttered  a constrained  laugh. 

‘‘  Don’t  fill  your  head  with  fancies,  Claire,  or  you 
will  be  sure  to  fail.  Do  your  petite^  and  I — well, 

we  shall  soon  know  what  we  have  to  depend  on  now.” 

‘‘What  do  you  mean,  Walter?”  Is  there  any 
doubt — any  fear  in  your  mind  as  to — as  to ” 

Her  voice  died  away,  and  Thorne  turned  and  looked 
sharply  in  her  face.  He  slowly  said  : 

“ I wonder  what  you  would  think  if  I were  to  tell 
you  the  exact  truth  ? — you  must  soon  know  it  now,  at 
any  rate.” 

He  saw  that  she  became  very  pale  as  she  asked : 


286  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Have  you  withheld  from  me  anything  I ought  to 
know,  Walter?  Has  not  everything  been  perfectly 
fair  and  above-board  with  your  father  ? ” 

Why  no-o — not  exactly.  The  fact  is,  the  old  man 
does  not  know  that  I am  actually  married,  and  as  he 
has  rather  strict  notions  on  the  subject  of  filial  duty,  he 
may  flare  up  rather  unpleasantly  when  he  first  sees  you. 
He  is  a regular  bombshell,  but  I hardly  think  he  will 
explode  with  violence  when  I introduce  you^  for  you 
are  pretty  enough  to  disarm  the  rage  of  a tiger.  I 
only  say  this  much  to  prepare  you  to  excuse  his  infirmi- 
ties of  temper,  and — and  to  bear  with  them  for  my  sake.” 

If  that  is  all,  you  need  not  look  so  grave,  for  I can 
bear  a great  deal  more  from  your  father.  But  I am 
sorry  you  kept  from  him  the  knowledge  of  our  mar- 
riage. I thought  the  news  would  be  so  pleasing  to 
him  that  you  would  hasten  to  inform  him  of  it.” 

Don’t  you  see.  Rosebud,  that  the  Governor  would 
have  been  offended  if  he  knew  that  I was  forced  to 
elope  with  you  in  order  to  secure  you  ? And  then  he 
would  have  insisted  that  I should  come  home  at  once 
with  you ; but  as  I wished  to  enjoy  our  honeymoon 
without  being  intruded  on  by  other  people,  I did  not 
care  to  let  him  know  what  had  happened.” 

But  you  have  surely  written  to  tell  him  before  this, 
Walter?  You  would  not  take  me  to  your  father’s 
liouse  Avithout  first  preparing  him  to  receive  me  as  your 
v/ife  ? ” 

‘‘Well — yes — I did  write,  but ” 

He  paused,  unwilling  to  admit  that  he  had  not  pos- 
sessed the  courage  to  send  his  letter. 

“ But  what,  Walter?  ” Claire  asked,  her  voice  almost 
failing  her. 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


287 


Oh,  nothing.  Don’t  go  and  agitate  yourself  now 
till  you  become  so  unnerved  as  to  be  unable  to  sustain 
yourself  creditably  through  the  ordeal  that  awaits  you. 
Everything  depends  on  you,  Rose  ; if  you  don’t  win  the 
good  graces  of  the  old  gentleman  in  your  first  interview 
with  him  I don’t  know'  what  the  result  may  be  to  both 
of  us.  I tell  you  this  to  put  you  on  your  mettle,  for 
you  are  a plucky  little  thing  when  once  you  are  fairly 
roused.” 

There  was  a sudden  flash  from  her  dark  ej^es,  but 
the  fire  was  speedily  quenched  by  the  tears  that  sprang 
to  them,  and  she  faintly  said  : 

‘‘  I regret  that  so  much  deception  has  been  necessary 
to  win  so  worthless  a prize  as  I seem  likely  to  prove. 
If  you  had  told  me  the  whole  truth  about  your  father, 
Walter,  I think  I should  have  elected  to  remain  with 
mamma  till  you  could  openly  and  honorably  have 
claimed  me.” 

“ In  that  case  I should  never  have  claimed  you  at 
all,”  Thorne  cynically  replied.  ‘‘  My  only  chance  was 
to  take,  time  by  the  forelock,  for  my  father  was  deter- 
mined to  have  me  married,  and  he  never  would  have 
consented  to  the  delay  of  two  years.  I have  brought 
him  a daughter-in-law  he  should  be  proud  of,  and  it 
rests  with  yourself  to  render  the  path  before  you 
smooth  and  easy  to  travel.” 

I will  do  my  best,”  was  the  low  reply,  and  Claire 
asked  no  more  questions,  for  she  began  to  dread  the 
revelations  that  might  be  made  to  her,  and  she  felt  that 
she  needed  all  her  strength  for  the  approaching  meet- 
.ing.  If  Walter  had  deceived  her  in  one  thing,  might 
he  not  have  done  so  in  others  ? What  reliance  could 
slie  place  in  him,  if  all  his  assurances  of  a tender  wel- 


288  the  clandestine  marriage. 


come  in  her  new  home  were  false  ? Claire  was  too 
much  bewildered  to  think  clearly,  but  the  future 
which  she  had  pictured  in  such  glowing  hues,  sud- 
denly loomed  before  her  dark  and  menacing,  though 
she  could  not  comprehend  the  extent  of  the  danger  to 
which  she  was  exposed. 

Comforting  herself  with  the  thought  that  he  had  in 
some  measure  prepared  his  wife  for  the  rude  shock  that 
awaited  her,  Thorne  drove  on  in  silence  till  the  stars 
came  out,  and  at  a sudden  turn  in  the  road  the  lights 
from  the  town  of  L shone  like  fireflies  in  the  dis- 

tance. 

We  are  in  sight  of  L ,”  he  then  said,  and  the 

large  gabled  mansion,  on  the  rising  ground  to  the  left, 
is  Thornhill.  We  shall  be  there  in  a few  moments; 
remember  what  I have  said  to  you,  Claire,  and  be 
calm  and  courageous.” 

“ I am  calm,”  was  the  reply  ; I have  been  nerving 
myself  for  what  was  so  unexpected,  and  will  be  so  un-. 
pleasant — butT  shall  not  fail  to  do  all  in  my  power  to 
conciliate  Col.  Thorne.” 

They  drew  up  at  a gate  leading  into  the  grounds  ; 
the  horse  was  secured  by  throwing  the  bridle  over  a 
projection  of  the  iron  fence,  and  Thorne  lifted  Claire 
from  the  vehicle,  as  he  said  : 

‘‘  I think  it  best  to  avoid  the  bustle  of  an  arrival, 
therefore  we  will  walk  up  to  the  house.  I wish  to  see 
my  father  alone  a few  moments,  and  at  this  hour  I 
shall  find  him  in  his  library.  I will  take  you  to  a sit- 
ting-room near  it,  and  leave  you  there  till  we  come  to 
you.  You  won’t  be  afraid  to  stay  by  yourself  in  the 
dark  a few  moments  ? ” 

“ No — I am  not  afraid  of  the  dark,  but  I do  not 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


289 


iike  to  Ue  smuggled  into  your  father’s  house  as  if  I 
have  no  right  to  enter  it.  I never  expected  from  you 
such  treatment  as  this,  Walter,  and  I begin  to  dread 
— I scarcely  know  what.” 

Pooh ! nonsense,  child.  I only  wish  to  bear  the 
first  brunt  of  his  anger,  and  make  things  easier  for  you. 
After  I have  talked  him  over,  I will  bring  him  to  you. 
Let  us  take  this  path — ^it  leads  to  a side  entrance  near 
the  room  to  which  I wish  to  take  you.  You  will  be 
quite  safe  from  interruption  there,  for  no  one  ever  enters 
it  at  this  hour.” 

With  most  reluctant  feet  did  Claire  enter  the  grand 
house  to  which  she  had  so  lately  expected  to  be  gra- 
ciously welcomed  as  its  future  mistress.  Trembling 
with  dread  and  excitement  with  which  bitter  and  angry 
mortification  was  mingled,  she  sat  down  in  a large 
chair  which  Thorne  wheeled  toward  a window  th . ough 
which  the  moon  was  shining. 

In  reply  to  his  whispered  words  of  apology  and  er  ’ 
couragement,  she  curtly  replied  : 

I shall  do  very  well,  only  I hope  you  will  not  be 
gone  very  long ; neither  my  courage  nor  temper  may 
stand  this  test  if  you  try  them  too  severely.” 

“ Temper,  my  angel  ? I thought  you  were  always 
as  serene  as  a calm  summer  morning.” 

‘‘Lighnting  and  tempest  are  born  of  summer  heat,” 
she  lightly  replied ; but  on  you  the  storm  shall  never 
burst  if  3^ou  continue  to  me  all  you  have  lately  been. 
If  not,  I cannot  answer  for  the  result.” 

Thorne  haughtily  drew  back,  and  asked  : 

‘‘  Is  that  intended  as  a threat,  Claire  ? ” 

“ I hardly  know.  I am  bewildered  at  the  strange- 
ness of  my  position ; it  is  so  different  from  what  I 
18 


290  the  clandestine  marriage. 


have  been  led  to  expect.  Don’t  try  me  too  far,  Wal- 
ter. If  you  get  angry  with  me  just  now  for  the  first 
time,  I may  break  down  when  it  is  most  important  to 
be  calm.” 

Thorne  stooped  forward  and  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head, and  she  received  the  caress  as  a peace  offering, 
through  her  heart  was  too  sore  at  that  moment  to  res- 
pond to  it.  All  this  had  come  upon  her  so  suddenly 
— she  was  so  unprepared  for  the  reception  she  was 
likely  to  meet  from  her  new  father-in-law,  that  she 
could  not  entirely  quell  the  resentful  pangs  that  dis- 
quieted her  heart, 

Thorne  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open  behind  him. 
As  Claire  sat  there  alone  in  the  dark  and  cheerless 
room,  a chill  struck  to  her  very  heart,  and  she  felt  as 
if  all  the  light  in  her  j^oung  life  had  been  quenched  in 
the  certainty  of  the  double-dealing  of  him  she  had  so 
implicitly  trusted. 

How  far  had  he  revealed  the  truth  to  her  ? she  won- 
dered. What  means  would  he  take  to  appease  the 
wrath  of  the  parent  he  evidently  dreaded  to  meet  ? 
Poor  little  girl ! she  was  as  proud  as  she  was  loving, 
and  she  felt  humiliated  to  the  dust  by  her  present 
position,  while  she  clung  wildly  to  the  husband  to 
whom  she  had  so  unreservedly  given  herself. 

All  her  dreams  of  grandeur  faded  suddenly  away, 
but  she  felt  strong  to  go  out  upon  the  hardest  path, 
and  fight  the  battle  of  life  with  the  man  she  loved,  if 
his  strong  hand  was  held  forth  to  sustain  her.  That 
he  would  give  her  up  at  the  command  of  his  haughty 
father,  she  did  not  once  think. 

Claire  knew,  without  being  told,  that  the  marriage 
made  by  Col.  Thorne’s  son  would  not  be  approved  by 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


291 


him,  and  she  grew  faint  and  sick  as  she  remembered 
that  letter  which  she  Avas  constrained  to  believe  a for- 
gery. In  excuse  for  her  husband  she  said  to  herself: 

He  must  haA^e  loved  me  to  desperation,  or  he  would 
never  have  used  such  means  to  Avin  me.  Poor,  dear 
Walter  ! Avith  so  tyrannical  a father  as  Col.  Thorne 
must  be,  there  was  no  other  course  left  open  to  him. 
I,  at  least,  should  be  the  last  one  to  judge  him  harshly 
for  what  was  done  for  my  sake.  No — no — I will  not 
— I Avill  not.'’ 

But  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  be  truly  loyal  to  her 
husband,  fears  and  doubts  would  still  surge  up,  and 
through  all  her  after  life,  Claire  remembered  the  half- 
hour  passed  in  that  darkened  room  alone,  as  the  bitter- 
est of  her  unhappy  experience. 

Thorne  stumbled-  through  the  narrow,  lateral  hall 
till  he  came  to  a door  which  opened  into  a vestibule 
lighted  by  a bronze  lamp  swung  from  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling.  He  crossed  the  floor  noiselessly,  and  entered 
a room  on  the  opposite  side  without  knocking.  A small 
fire  burned  in  the  grate,  though  the  evening  was  Avarm 
for  the  season,  and  a shaded  lamp  stood  on  a circular 
table  draAvn  up  near  it. 

The  door  leading  into  the  octagon  room  before  de- 
scribed, was  open,  and  through  it  floated  the  fragrance 
of  a fine  cigar.  By  this  token  Thorne  knew  that  the 
terrible  judge  he  sought  was  not  far  away,  and  with  a 
Aveak  and  trembling  heart  he  adAmnced  to  that  sanctum 
in  Avhich  he  had  so  often  borne  the  brunt  of  his  fath- 
er s Avrath.  But  all  that  had  gone  before,  would,  he 
believed,  be  child’s  play  in  comparison  AAuth  what  now 
lay  before  him.  Thorne  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  unnerved  if  he  had  been  about  to  enter  the  den 


292  the  clandestine  MAKRIAaB. 

of  a tiger,  and  his  courage  sank  down  to  zero  as  he  ap** 
proached  the  open  door. 

By  the  dim  light,  Thorne  saw  the  old  gentleman  re- 
clining at  his  ease  in  a large  chair,  with  his  feet  rest- 
ing on  another.  He  was  smoking  vigorously,  a habit 
Col.  Thorne  always  had  Avhen  he  was  in  an  irritable 
mood.  Walter  hesitated  a moment,  but  he  felt  that 
he  must  get  through  with  what  he  had  to  say,  and  go 
back  to  Claire  before  she  became  too  much  agitated  to 
play  the  part  assigned  her  in  the  reconcilation  on 
which  so  much  depended.  So  he  cleared  his  throat  as 
a hint  of  his  presence,  and  was  greeted  with  the  ex- 
clamation— Who  the  devil  is  that  ? and  how  do  you 
dare  intrude  on  me  in  my  own  sanctum  ? ” 

‘‘  It  is  I,  father ; I have  just  arrived,  and  I thought 
it  best  to  seek  you  here,  without  troubling  any  one  to 
announce  me.” 

Oh  ! it’s  you  at  last,  is  it  ? I had  begun  to  think 
that  I should  be  forced  to  go  in  pursuit  of  you  my- 
self, if  I got  you  here  in  time  for  your  wedding.  A 
precious  lover  you  are,  to  be  sure  ! If  I were  Agnes, 
I would  send  you  to  the  inferno  before  I would  accept 
so  tardy  a wooer.” 

I should  not  care  much  if  she  were  to  do  so,”  was 
the  indifferent  response.  Better  to  go  to  as  hot  a 
place  as  the  one  you  mentioned,  than  freeze  in  the  icy 
regions  to  which  such  a woman  as  Miss  Willard  be- 
longs. I must  speak  the  truth  to  you  at  once,  father, 
for  this  is  no  time  to  falter.  I have  come  home  to 
break  the  engagement  you  induced  me  to  form.  I can- 
not marry  Agnes.” 

‘‘What  is  that  you  dare  to  say?”  thundered  Col. 
Thorne,  jumping  up  and  confronting  his  rebelluua 
son. 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


293 


‘‘  I say,  sir,  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  make  the 
young  lady  you  have  chosen  for  me  my  wife.” 

With  a chilling  sneer,  his  father  responded — 

Indeed  ! but  am  a man  who  tramples  on  impos* 
sibilities,  and  I will  grind  both  you  and  them  into  the 
dust,  if  you  persist  in  the  assertion  you  have  just 
made.  Are  you  mad,  Walter  Thorne,  that  you  come 
hither  within  two  days  of  the  time  appointed  for  your 
marriage,  and  talk  in  this  absurd  manner  ? ” 

Walter  cowered  before  the  fury  of  his  tones  and 
gestures,  but  he  found  voice  to  say — 

No,  sir!  I am  not  mad  now,  but  I think  I have 
been  so  for  the  last  few  weeks  of  my  life.  I must 
tell  you  at  once,  that  I have  placed  an  impassable  bar- 
rier between  Miss  Willard  and  myself;  a man  ham- 
pered with  one  wife  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  take 
another.” 

Col.  Thorne  suddenly  sank  down  on  a chair  as  if  he 
had  been  shot,  and  for  several  moments  nothing  was 
audible  save  his  gasping  breath.  Walter  had  made  a 
desperate  plunge,  and  almost  breathless  he  waited  for 
the  result.  He  expected  an  outburst  of  furious  abuse, 
but  presently  his  father  said,  more  as  if  communing 
with  himself  than  addressing  him  : 

So — this  is  what  you’ve  been  up  to  since  you  left 

L ? Hampered^  are  you  ? then  the  veil  has  fallen, 

and  you  see  the  girl  who  has  taken  you  in,  and  made 
an  egregious  fool  of  you,  with  disenchanted  eyes. 
Who  is  she?  What  is  she?  I must  know  all  the 
particulars  of  this  inconceivable  folly.” 

He  was  so  much  calmer  than  his  son  had  dared  to 
hope,  that  he  was  deceived  by  this  unexpected  quiet- 
ness ; and  quite  unconscious  that  it  was  only  the  lull 


294  the  clandestine  marriage. 


before  the  storm.  Walter  sat  down  and  gave  him  as 
brief  and  correct  an  outline  of  the  last  few  weeks  of 
his  life  as  was  possible  to  one  so  steeped  in  deceit  as 
he  was.  Col.  Thorne  listened  with  set  teeth  that  at 
intervals  were  ground  together  witli  internal  raging 
he  found  it  difficult  to  repress  : but  he  did  it  till  such 
facts  as  his  son  chose  to  place  before  him  were  known ; 
then,  in  tones  hoarse  with  fury  he  cried  : 

‘‘  I know  you  to  be  a weak,  impulsive  fool,  Walter 
Thorne,  but  I never  supposed  your  imbecility  would 
take  such  a form  as  this.  You,  bound  to  one  woman 
by  every  tie  of  honor,  have  actually  given  your  hand 
to  another  ! And  she  ? — what  is  she,  that  you  dare 
come  to  me  with  this  story?  An  obscure,  penniless 
creature,  with  nothing  to  recommend  her,  save  a few 
fleeting  charms  that  happened  to  please  your  flckle 
fancy.  I swear  to  you  by  all  my  hope  in  life,  that  this 
nobody  that  you  have  picked  up  in  your  idle  tramp, 
which  I was  a fool  to  allow  you  to  undertake,  shall 
never  enter  my  house.  She  shall  never  be  acknowl- 
edged as  a member  of  my  family,  and  if  you  persist  in 
clinging  to  her,  you  may  give  up  all  expectations  from 
me.  I will  cast  you  off ; you  may  beg,  starve,  die  in 
a ditch,  and  I will  not  put  forth  my  hand  to  aid  you. 
There  ! — I hope  that  is  plain  enough  speaking  : and  by 
the  Eternal ! I mean  every  word  I have  said.” 

“ But,  father,  if  you  would  only  see  her,”  pleaded 
Thorne,  in  desperation,  only  talk  with  her  a few 
moments,  you  would  not  be  able  to  withstand  the 
sweet  charm  of  her  presence  any  more  than  I did.’* 
Sweet  charm  ! Don’t  exasperate  me  to  frenzy, 
Walter.  I worCt  see  her,  and  you  may  choose  this 
hour  whether  you  will  go  with  her  to  poverty  and 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


295 


wretchedness,  or  consent  to  repudiate  the  tie  that 
binds  you  to  her.  An  informal  marriage  such  as  yours 
can  easily  be  set  aside,  especially  where  there  is  wealth 
on  one  side,  and  obscurity  on  the  other.  The  artful 
minx  who  has  entrapped  you  so  cleverly  is  a mere  no- 
body,— she  will  have  no  friends  here  to  sustain  her, 
and  I can  easily  get  this  absurd  marriage  annulled. 
Consent  to  be  divorced,  and  I will  pass  over  this  folly  ; 
refuse,  and  you  may  leave  my  house  never  to  enter  it 
again — never  to  look  to  me  for  the  smallest  assistance 
in  the  dismal  future  you  will  embrace.  Do  you  think 
a j)retty  face  is  worth  such  a price  as  that  ? Will 
your  charmer  be  able  to  console  you  for  the  sacrifice 
of  the  wealth  you  must  give  up,  if  you  persist  in  cling- 
ing to  her  ? I trow  not,  for  luxury  and  ease  are  the 
idols  of  your  self-indulgent  nature.” 

Walter  Thorne  leaned  against  the  window-frame  for 
support,  for  his  agitation  was  extreme,  and  for  several 
moments  he  was  incapable  of  utterance. 

‘‘  Speak,”  thundered  his  irate  father.  ‘‘  Choose 
your  path  ; for  by  the  Eternal,  I have  offered  the  only 
terms  on  which  I will  still  continue  to  acknowledge 
you  as  my  son.” 

‘‘  Oh,  sir — oh  my  father,  have  mercy  on  this  poor 
child — on  me,  for  I love  her.  She  has  trusted  herself 
to  me,  and  I cannot  play  the  part  of  a villain  by  her.” 

Col.  Thorne  raised  his  finger  and  pointed  towards 
the  door.  Then,  there  is  your  path,  sir.  Walk  out 
of  my  house,  anff  never  dare  to  appeal  to  me  again 
under  any  circumstances.  My  heart  will  be  steeled  to 
you — my  purse  closed.  I will  repay  Agnes  for  your 
desertion  hy  settling  on  her  every  cent  of  my  fortune. 
Her  father  is  ill  unto  death,  and  your  marriage  must 


296  the  clandestine  marriage. 


have  been  postponed  at  any  rate  ; I shall  have  time  to 
free  jou  from  your  degrading  bondage  if  your  consent 
is  given.  Agnes  must  soon  be  an  orphan,  but  I will 
be  a father  to  her ; she  shall  console  me  for  giving  up 
my  ungrateful  son.” 

Father,  you  only  say  this  to  try  me.  You  know 
that,  reared  as  I have  been,  with  no  profession — no 
means  of  making  a living,  I could  never  support  my- 
self, much  less  a wife.” 

Give  her  up,  then,”  was  the  sharp,  fierce  response. 

offer  you  an  alternative.” 

‘‘  Blit  how  terrible  an  alternative.  Rose  loves  me  , 
she  will  break  her  heart  if  I desert  her.  I should  be 
wretched  myself.” 

‘‘You  would  not  think  of  that  other  heart  you  have 
won,  when  you  were  dashing  headlong  to  your  own 
ruin  ; but  I think  of  it,  and  I will  do  all  that  man  can 
to  give  back  to  Agnes  the  worthless  ingrate  she  is  so 
unfortunate  as  to  have  fixed  her  affections  on.  I have 
named  the  only  terms  on  which  I will  forgive  this  dis- 
graceful episode  in  your  life,  and  it  rests  with  yourself 
to  reject,  or  accept  it.” 

“ But,  father,  would  Miss  Willard  accept  me,  when 
she  knows  what  has  occurred  ? Even  if  I consented 
to  play  the  villain  to  my  wife,  you  could  never  induce 
so  proud  a woman  as  Agnes  to  forgive  the  infidelity  of 
which  I have  been  guilty.” 

“ Leave  that  to  me.  Only  consent  to  be  freed  from 
the  shackles  that  bind  you,  and  I will  answer  for  the 
rest.  Agnes  is  not  at  home.  She  went  with  her  fa* 
ther  to  Philadelphia,  in  the  vain  hope  that  the  physi- 
cians there  could  benefit  him  ; I have  just  returned 
from  a visit  there  to  them,  and  Mr.  Willard  is  no  bet- 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


297 


ter.  They  will  remain  in  Philadelphia  for  better  med- 
ical advice,  but  he  is  not  long  for  this  world.  I was 
fretting  about  the  delay  in  your  marriage,  but  I can 
see  now  that  Fate  has  managed  affairs  best  for  us  all. 
Agnes  need  know  nothing  of  the  foolish  escapade  of 
Avhich  you  have  been  guilty.  The  whole  thing  can  be 
settled  and  you  freed  from  your  matrimonial  yoke  be- 
fore she  returns  home.  See  how  lenient  I am  to  af- 
ford you  that. chance  to  retrieve  yourself  in  my  favor.’’ 

“ But  father,  you  think  only  of  Agnes,  and  give  no 
compassion  to  the  poor  girl  you  so  ruthlessly  condemn 
to  be  cast  off  by  me.  I entreat  that  you  will  see  her 
and  speak  with  her,  if  but  for  a moment.  She  is  so 
fair,  so  bewitching  a creature,  that  your  heart  will 
relent  toward  her — you  will  even  be  proud  to  claim 
her  as  your  daughter,  if  you  will  only  give  her  a 
chance  to  win  you  over.  That  is  all  I ask  of  you. 
Fortune  is  nothing  to  you,  for  you  have  enough  and  to 
spare.  Rose  is  of  good  family — of  gentle  breeding, 
and — and — I adore  her.” 

The  unhappy  young  man  made  this  plea  in  as  firm  a 
V'oice  as  he  could,  but  his  father  was  unmoved  by  it. 
He  cynically  replied : 

“I  understand  all  about  that.  Such  men  as  you 
love  madly,  blindly,  for  a few  brief  months  ; then  the 
object  of  the  passion  is  cast  aside  as  carelesslj^  as  a 
faded  flower  is  trampled  under  foot.  If  you  should  be 
unwise  enough  to  give  up  my  favor,  together  with  your 
own  inheritance,  for  the  sake  of  this  girl,  you  would 
soon  learn  to  hate  her  for  the  sacrifice  you  had  made. 
There  can  be  no  happiness  for  her  in  this  ill-omened 
union,  and  still  less  for  yourself.  You  can  provide 
liberally  for  her — I will  not  object  to  that ; but  as  to 


298  the  clandestine  marriage. 


receiving  her  as  my  daughter,  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
Place  yourself  in  a position  to  redeem  your  pledges  to 
Agnes  Willard,  and  I will  ignore  the  late  events  of 
your  life.  Refuse,  and,  as  I before  said,  you  may  this 
night  go  forth  a beggar,  and  what  is  worse,  a helpless, 
fastidious  beggar,  with  no  hope  for  the  future  ; for  I 
solemnly  swear  to  you  that  nothing  shall  ever  induce 
me  to  see  you  or  assist  jow.  while  you  remain  true  to 
the  obscure  creature  you  are  so  anxious  to  thrust  upon 
my  favor.” 

The  cutting  emphasis  with  which  Col.  Thorne  spoke 
convinced  Walter  how  deeply  in  earnest  he.  was.  He 
knew  better  than  any  other  how  inflexible  his  father’s 
nature  was — how  ruthless  in  his  purpose  he  could  be — 
and  his  heart  sunk  like  lead  in  his  bosom.  He  faintly 
said : 

You  speak  of  a divorce,  sir,  as  if  it  were  a thing 
easy  to  be  obtained,  I — I do  not  know  on  what  ground 
T could  ask  for  one,  for  I have  voluntarily  chosen  my 
wife,  and  thus  far  we  have  been  very  happy  together.” 

Ah,  bah,  that  is  easily  managed.  You  are  a very 
young  and  unexperienced  man  — you  have  been  en- 
trapped into  a misalliance  that  will  destroy  all  your 
prospects  in  life.  ' Those  facts,  backed  by  my  influence 
and  money,  can  accomplish  what  I wish.  I observe 
that  you  already  speak  in  the  past  tense — ^you  say  you 
have  been  happy  with  your  charmer  : very  good — live 
henceforth  on  the  memory  of  that,  and  do  not  insist  on 
clinging  to  a dead  passion  when  all  its  glamour  has 
passed  away.  Withered  flowers  have  only  a sicken- 
ing odor,  and  they  are  not  worth  the  price  that,  in  your 
case,  will  be  exacted  for  them.  Tell  me  now,  upon 
your  honor,  do  you  value  this  girl  above  fortune,  posi  • 


THE  VEIL  RENT  AWAY. 


299 


tion,  above  the  happy  and  prosperous  future  I hav.e  ar- 
ranged for  you  ? ” 

Walter  reflected  a few  moments  before  replying. 
He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  had  begun  to  weary 
of  Claire — of  the  demonstrative  afl^ection  she  so  exube- 
rantly lavished  upon  him  ; and  he  felt  that  to  relin- 
quish for  her  sake  all  that  he  most  highly  prized,  was 
a sacrifice  he  was  incapable  of  making. 

He  had  almost  forced  her  to  his  arms,  and  now  he 
was  preparing  to  cast  her  from  them  at  the  bidding  of 
his  implacable  father.  Yet  in  justice  to  him  it  must  be 
told,  that  it  cost  him  many  bitter  pangs  to  give  her  up 
— to  blight  her  beautiful  dream  of  happiness,  and 
leave  her  in  the  opening  dawn  of  life  wrecked  and 
hopeless. 

It  was  better,  he  argued  with  himself,  that  she  should 
be  the  sacrifice  than  that  both  should  be  shattered  on 
the  desolate  strand  of  life  ; for  he  possessed  neither 
the  power  nor  the  will  to  make  a future  for  her.  He 
was  at  that  moment  reduced  almost  to  his  last  dollar, 
and  he  dared  not  risk  being  cast  out  from  his  luxurious 
home  with  no  dependence  for  the  future.  Claire 
might  even,  in  time,  reproach  him  for  the  poverty  into 
which  they  must  inevitably  sink,  for  he  knew  that  his 
artistic  talent,  miperfectly  cultivated  and  capriciously 
exercised,  could  not  afford  them  bread. 

Col.  Thorne  quietly  resumed  his  cigar,  while  his  son 
stood  near  him,  balancing  against  each  other  love  and 
fortune.  He  understood  the  nature  of  the  man  before 
him,  and  he  felt  perfectly  confident  as  to  the  result. 

With  intense  bitterness  Walter  finally  said  : 

It  is  not  a question  of  a happy  future,  sir  ; for  that 

now  a tioneless  thing*  for  me.  If  I consent  to  give 


300  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


up  tlie  darling  of  my  heart  and  carry  out  the  plan  on 
which  you  have  so  strongly  set  yours,  you  will  be  an- 
swerable for  the  wretchedness  my  union  with  Agnes 
Willard  must  bring  to  both  her  and  myself.  I never 
loved  her,  though  I submitted  to  your  will  so  far  as  to 
ask  her  to  become  my  wife.  Forced  to  accept  her  as 
such,  after  repudiating  the  woman  I prefer,  I shall  hate 
her  ; I shall  be  guilty  of  that  which  will  make  me  hate 
myself.” 

“ I shall  risk  it,  at  all  events,”  was  the  cool  response. 

I can  see  plainly  enongh  that  your  passion  for  your 
darling,  as  you  call  her,  has  passed  its  heyday,  and  you 
are  not  willing  to  bury  yourself  in  its  ashes.  So  much 
the  better  for  you ; and  as  to  the  artful  minx  who  has 
so  sweetly  beguiled  you,  let  her  take  the  consequences 
of  her  own  folly.  I shall  have  little  care  for  her,  be- 
yond furnishing  the  means  to  pension  her  off  when 
once  you  are  fairly  rid  of  her.  Let  us  now  settle  the 
means  of  accomplishing  that,  if  you  have  decided.” 

Good  Heavens,  sir,  will  nothing  move  you  ? ” 

‘‘  Nothing — I am  steel — marble — adamant,  to  any 
entreaties  you  may  urge.  Submission — or  irretrievable 
ruin.” 

The  two  looked  each  other  in  the  eyes,  and  the  head 
of  the  younger  man  drooped  hopelessly  upon  his  breast. 
With  a hard  and  contemptuous  smile.  Col.  Thorne 
said: 

“ I see  that  you  understand  your  position  at  last ; 
and  now  tell  me  the  truth — the  marriage  was  clanden- 
stine — was  there  a license  ? — were  any  witnesses  pres- 
ent?” 

In  a low,  reluctant  tone  his  son  replied  : 

There  was  neither.  She  trusted  to  my  honor — to 


THE  EXPLOSION. 


301 


the  fact  that  we  were  united  by  a Catholic  priest ; and 
as  Rose  looks  on  that  ceremony  as.  indissoluble,  she 
believed  I felt  the  same.  There  was  no  time  to  obtain 
a license,  for  I took  advantage  of  Father  Jerome’s  con- 
sent to  unite  us,  as  soon  as  it  was  given.” 

“ And  the  priest  ? ” asked  Col.  Thorne,  quickly. 
“ Will  he  be  likely  to  come  forward  as  a witness,  to 
prove  that  you  were  really  married  ? ” 

‘‘If  he  were  living  he  would  certainly  do  so  ; but 
everything  seems  to  favor  the  iniquity  you  would  force 
upon  me.  The  old  man’s  mind  was  failing  him,  I 
think,  before  he  consented  to  unite  us ; and  he  was 
struck  with  paralysis  soon  afterward.  I left  him  al- 
most in  a dying  condition,  and  I should  not  be  surpris- 
ed if,  by  this  time,  he  is  dead.” 

Col.  Thorne  arose,  threw  away  the  stump  of  cigar, 
and  decisively  said  : 

“ The  affair  can  be  settled  easily  enough  then.  The 
divorce  will  be  a mere  form,  for  there  is  really  no  proof 
of  the  marriage.  I shall  get  one  though,  for  I will 
have  no  shadow  of  a doubt  on  the  validity  of  your 
union  with  Agnes.  I will  claim  her  as  my  daughter, 
or  I will  disown  you  as  my  son.  That  is  my  ulti- 
matum.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  EXPLOSION. 

COL.  THORNE  passed  into  the  adjoining  chamber, 
lifted  the  screen  from  the  lamp  and  turned  its  light 


302 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


on  the  face  of  his  son,  who  had  mechanically  followed 
him.  Ho  had  no  feeling  of  compassion  for  the  pallid 
anguish  he  saw  written  on  Walter’s  agitated  features : 
a man  of  iron  purpose  and  pitiless  will,  he  permitted 
nothing  to  stand  in  the  way  of  a resolution  he  had  once 
taken.  He  even  refused  to  let  Claire  stay  in  the  house 
one  night,  saying  : 

‘‘  I bid  you  remove  her  from  this  house  without  de- 
lay, for  I do  not  recognize  her  right  to  enter  it  at  all. 
The  tie  that  binds  you  to  her  is  not  legal ; at  the  pro- 
per time  I shall  prove  that  it  is  not;  and  what  Avould 
be  said  or  thought  of  me  if  I received  one  in  her  doubt- 
ful position,  and  permitted  her  to  remain  here  even 
for  a few  hours  ? ” 

The  speaker  turned  away  from  the  writhing  figure 
of  his  son,  and  started  back  at  the  apparition  that 
stood  in  the  doorway ; a girl  as  colorless  as  the  dead, 
draped  in  deep  mourning  robes,  stood  as  if  rooted  to 
the  threshold,  with  an  expression  of  such  wild  agony  and 
doubt  on  her  white  face,  that  even  that  hard  man  shrank 
back  appalled  as  he  read  its  meaning.  Her  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  cowering  form  of  her  husband,  and  she 
almost  disdainfully  said  : 

“ Come,  Walter,  let  us  go — I see  that  I am  not  want- 
ed here.  But  what  does  he  mean  by  saying  that  our 
marriage  was  not  legal?  It  was,  I am  sure,  for  Father 
Jerome  would  never  have  lent  himself  to  a deception 
that  would  ruin  me  and  render  us  both  wretched.” 

At  the  sound  of  Claire’s  voice,  Walter  started 
and  turned  toward  her,  but  as  he  would  ctpproacli- 
ed  her  his  father  steno'^^d  tVr  cen  them  and  mockingly 
said  • 

do,  young  lady,  you  have  not  disdained  to  play  the 


THE  EXPLOSION. 


303 


part  of  the  eavesdropper,  and  have  proved  the  truth  of 
the  old  adage,  that  they  seldom  hear  any  good  of  them- 
selves.” 

A faint  flush  came  to  Claire’s  cheek,  and  she  proudl}^ 
replied : 

‘‘I  came  hither  but  a moment  since  in  search  of  my 
husband.  He  left  me  so  long  alone,  and  in  darkness, 
that  I thought  something  must  have  happened  to  him. 
I followed  the  sound  of  voices,  and  came  within  hear- 
ing just  as  you  uttered  that  cruel  falsehood.  I am  his 
wife,  sir,  and  until  I was  almost  at  your  door  I be- 
lievecL  that  you  were  waiting  to  welcome  me  most 
gladly  as  your  daughter.” 

Though  struck  by  the  simple  dignity  with  which  so 
young  a creature  spoke.  Col.  Thorne  was  not  moved 
by  the  pale  loveliness  of  her  face,  nor  by  the  tremu- 
lous anguish  which  thrilled  in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 
He  coldly  said : 

“ My  son  is  an  unprincipled  deceiver  where  women 
are  concerned.  He  did  not  ask  my  consent  to  marry 
you,  and  if  he  had  done  so,  he  knew  full  well  that  it 
would  never  have  been  given.  He  was  not  free  to 
bestow  his  hand,  for  it  has  long  been  pledged  to  the 
girl  I have  chosen  for  his  wife.  He  admits  that  some 
ceremony  was  gone  through  with,  but  it  was  unwit- 
nessed ; there  was  no  license,  and,  therefore,  I choose 
to  rcigard  it  as  illegal.  It  shall  be  set  aside,  for  my 
son  shall  not  bind  himself  irrevocably  to  poverty  for 
the  sake  of  a pretty  toy  of  which  he  is  already  weary.” 

He  uttered  the  cruel  words  without  shrinking, 
though  he  read  on  her  face  the  force  of  the  mortal 
blow  they  dealt.  Claire  turned  to  Thorne  and  almost 
in  a whisper  asked^: 


804  the  clandestine  marriage. 


‘‘  Is  this  true  ? The  first  I already  divined — but  the 
last  cruel  assertion  must  be  false.  Oh,  Walter,  leave 
me  not  to  suppose  that  you  already  weary  of  the  being 
you  wooed  so  fondly  to  your  heart ! that  some  other 
woman  held  a place  in  it  before  you  knew  me  ! Be 
true  to  me,  Walter — assert  your  own  manhood,  and 
let  us  go  forth  to  face  the  world  together,  strong  in  our 
mutual  love,  and  ready  to  bear  the  heaviest  burdens 
life  may  lay  upon  us,  provided  they  are  borne 
together.” 

Claire  held  her  hand  toward  him,  but  Thorne  did 
not  move  to  clasp  it,  and  his  father  disdainfully 
broke  in : 

“ Let  us  end  this  scene,  if  you  please  ; I wish  you 
to  understand  that  my  will  is  Walter  Thorne’s  law^ 
and  I have  already  won  from  him  the  promise,  that  he 
will  repudiate  the  flimsy  tie  that  binds  him  to  you, 
and  return  to  her  who  has  the  best  claim  upon  him. 
Look  at  him  as  he  shrinks  and  cowers  there  and  give 
credence  to  my  words.” 

Thorne  had  again  thrown  himself  upon  a seat,  his 
head  bowed,  and  his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  un- 
willing to  look  upon  her  he  was  preparing  himself  to 
renounce.  He  felt  that  the  angel  with  the  flaming 
sword  had  entered  their  Eden,  and  driven  them  forth, 
never  to  re-enter  it  again  ; his  heart  impelled  him  to 
spring  to  the  side  of  his  helpless  wife,  and  sustain  her 
against  her  pitiless  antagonist,  but  the  dire  conse- 
quences to  himself  arose  before  him,  and  he  dared 
not. 

Claire  made  a few  steps  towards  him  and  faintly 
said  : 

“ Walter,  I have  but  you : are  you  so  false  to  the  vows 


THE  EXPLOSION. 


305 


you  have  pledged  to  me,  that  you  are  ready  to  give 
me  up  at  the  bidding  of  your  father  ? 

At  this  appeal  he  cast  a despairing  glance  toward 
her,  and  then  cried  out: 

Oh  Claire  ! what  other  choice  is  left  me  ? I can- 
not work,  to  beg  I am  ashamed,  and  you  see  you  have 
heard  for  yourself  Avhat  the  will  of  my  father  is.  What 
can  I do  but  submit  to  it  ? ” 

A faint  cry  issued  from  her  colorless  lips,  so  full  of 
anguish  that  it  penetrated  even  to  the  callous  heart 
of  that  haughty  old  man,  but  he  repressed  the  emo- 
tion as  a weakness,  and  listened  to  the  words  she  was, 
with  effort,  speaking. 

Oh,  Walter!  I have  trusted  you,  so  implicitly; 
believed  in  you  so  fully,  yet  you  can  so  ruthlessly 
tread  upon  my  poor  heart.  You  have  crushed  the  life 
out  of  it  this  night;  and  henceforth  it  is  dead — dead^ 

She  turned  and  swiftly  left  the  room. 

‘‘I  must  follow  her,”  cried  Walter,  and  he  rushed 
madly  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  figure.  In  her  present 
frame  of  mind  he  knew  not  what  desperate  resolution 
might  enter  Claire’s  stricken  heart,  and  be  acted  on, 
before  she  had  time  to  think  of  the  enormity  of  the 
crime  of  self-destruction. 

Col.  Thorne  made  no  effort  to  detain  him,  for  some- 
thing in  the  face  of  the  unhappy  creature,  so  suddenly 
torn  from  her  dream  of  love,  and  hurled  into  the 
depths  of  despair,  had  frightened  him,  cold,  and  harsh 
as  he  had  shown  himself. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  by  its  clear  light, 
Thorne  discovered  the  outline  of  a dark-robed  figure 
just  disappearing  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  trees  in 

19 


306  the  clandestine  xMARRiage. 


the  direction  of  a narrow,  but  deep  stream,  which 
wound  through  the  grounds. 

With  fleet  steps  he  pursued,  and  gained  the  bank 
just  in  time  to  prevent  her  precipitating  herself  into 
the  dark  waters.  Claire  struggled  frantically,  crying 
out: 

“ Let  me  go — let  me  go.  I will  not  live  to  be  for- 
saken, and  disgraced.  You  will  cast  me  off,  and  no  one 
else  would  then  receive  me  ; death  is  my  only  refuge.” 

Thorne  held  her  firmly  clasped  in  his  arms,  and  ut- 
tered every  protestation  that  could  calm  and  reassure 
her  in  that  fearful  moment.  But  she  was  wild  with 
anguish  and  resentment,  and  she  replied  to  them  by 
the  bitterest  reproaches  for  bringing  such  insult  and 
humiliation  upon  her  as  she  had  lately  borne  from  his 
father.  All  the  fire  in  her  nature  was  aroused,  and 
her  outraged  love  seemed  to  him  to  have  died  as  sud- 
den a death  as  even  Col.  Thorne  could  have  wished. 

Finding  how  useless  her  efforts  were  to  escape,  Claire 
submitted  to  be  removed  from  the  brink  of  the  stream, 
and  after  a few  moments  she  imperiously  said : 

Take  me  from  this  place  in  which  I have  been  so 
bitterly  insulted ; where  I have  learned  that  there  is 
no  faith  to  be  placed  in  man.  I have  seen  that  you  are 
ready  to  yield  me  up  to  the  desolate  future  that  must 
be  mine,  after  taking  so  fatal  a step  as  our  marriage 
has  proved  to  me  ; but  I warn  you  that  I will  not  be 
cast  off  without  seeking — seeking  forever  till  I find  the 
means  to  avenge  the  dastardly  wrong  you  are  ready  to 
consummate  towards  me.  I am  helpless,  and  at  3"our 
mercy  now;  but  it  will  not  always  be  so.  Were  you 
worthy  the  name  of  man,  you  would  stand  by  me  at 
all  hazards ; labor  for  me,  make  a future  for  us  both. 


THE  EXPLOSION. 


:^0T 

as  the  toiling  millions  of  earth  do  for  the  mates  they 
have  chosen.  But  you^  lapped  in  liixuiy,  steeped  in 
selfishness,  you  throw  a young  and  helpless  creature 
upon  that  world  you  have  not  the  courage  to  face  your- 
self, and,  w'orse  than  that,  you  are  ready  to  stain  her 
name  with  the  assertion  that  the  tie  she  believed  the 
golden  link  that  bound  her  to  peace  and  happiness, 
was  but  a sham — a shameless  lie — yet  such  it  v/as  not, 
well  you  know,  though  you  will,  with  the  power  of 
that  bad  old  man  to  aid  you,  make  it  so  appear;  to 
others. 

‘‘  You^  as  a professing  Catholic,  know  that  no  secu- 
lar tribunal  can  sever  the  bond  that  unites  us  ; yet 
why  should  I appeal  to  the  religion  I now  know  you 
only  professed  to  gain  an  end.  False  in  that,  as  in  all 
the  rest,  I find  you  utterly  unworthy  of  the  adoring 
love  I have  so  blindly  lavished  on  you.” 

Claire  spoke  with  such  rapid  and  fervid  utterance 
that  Thorne  found  it  impossible  to  interrupt  her.  His 
half-awakened  remorse  was  stifled  by  this  torrent  of 
reproaches ; he  writhed  beneath  the  truths  so  plainly 
spoken,  and  when  she  at  last  paused,  he  coldly  said : 

It  is  as  well  that  the  disenchantment  should  be 
mutual.  We  have  played  out  our  pretty  little  farce  of 
mai’ried  felicity  ; you  cannot  say  that  I did  not  make 
you  supremely  happy  for  one  halcyon  month,  and  I 
admit  that  you  rendered  me  so  too.  I am  not  ungrate- 
ful, though  I may  seem  so  now.  We  can  both  look 
back  to  that  blissful  interlude  in  the  monotony  of  life, 
and  have  the  sweet  consolation  of  knowing  that  we 
have  been  blest,  let  fate  bring  us  what  it  may  in  the 
future.” 

“ As  if  the  brightness  of  those  days  will  not  darken 


308  the  clandestine  marriage. 


all  that  are  to  follow  them,”  she  bitterly  replied.  “ 1 
did  not  ask  for  a glimpse  of  Eden  : the  ‘ sober  certainty 
of  waking  bliss  ’ is  infinitely  more  to  my  taste,  yet  wo 
is  me  ! it  can  never — never  now  be  mine.” 

You  are  too  young  to  despair  of  anything.  Rose. 
Let  us  endeavor  to  forget  our  past,  and  try  to  find 
contentment,  at  least,  in  the  days  that  are  to  come. 
W e have  both  been  rudely  awakened  from  our  love- 
dream.  You  have  found  a deceiver  and  a villain  in 
the  hero  of  your  fancy,  and  I have  found  a termagant 
and  a bitter  scold  in  the  goddess  of  mine : thus  we 
are  quits.  Let  us  part  as  friends,  since  my  father  has 
decreed  that  part  we  must.” 

There  was  much  of  his  father’s  cynical  hardness  in 
his  tones,  and  Claire  recklessly  replied : 

‘‘  Yes — let  us  part ; but  not  for  ever.  Break  the 
bond  that  unites  us  ; but  you  shall  yet  find  that  faith 
and  truth  to  me  had  been  better  for  your  own  prosper- 
ity, as  well  as  for  your  happiness.  Take  me  from  this 
place,  I say — remove  me  as  far  away  as  is  possible,  for 
the  very  air  seems  to  stifle  me.  There  is  a town  not 
far  way  ; take  me  there,  and  give  me  time  to  think 
over  all  that  has  so  suddenly  come  upon  me.” 

Thorne  led  her  back  to  the  carriage,  placed  her  in  it 

and  drove  slowly  toward  L . She  supposed  he 

was  going  to  a hotel,  but  he  turned  off  from  the  princi- 
pal streets  after  entering  the  town,  and  presently  drew 
up  in  front  of  a handsome  gothic  cottage,  almost  em- 
bowered in  trees. 


ADA  DIGBY. 


309 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ADA  DIGBY. 

CLAIRE  sat  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  wretch- 
edness to  care  whither  she  was  removed,  provided 
she  was  taken  from  the  home  from  which  she  had  been 
so  ignominiously  thrust ; but  when  Thorne  drew  up  in 
this  secluded  spot,  she  looked  up  and  haughtily  asked  : 

To  whom  are  you  now  taking  me,  Mr.  Thorne  ? A 
public  house  is  the  only  one  that  should  receive  me ; 
and  if  the  landlord  of  that  knew  all  that  is  soon  to  be- 
fal  me,  he  would  not  consent  to  admit  beneath  his 
roof  one  whose  fair  name  you  are  getting  ready  to  assail 
before  the  tribunals  of  your  State.  You  will  get  a 
divorce,  under  what  pretext  God  alone  knows,  and  I 
shall  hide  my  face  in  shame,  not  for  myself,  but  for  the 
man  I have  believed  among  the  noblest  and  best  of 
his  kind.” 

‘‘  Hush — hush.  Rose  ; we  have  had  enough  of  that. 
I have  brought  you  to  a relative  of  mine,  who  will 
receive,  and  succor  you  in  every  possible  way.  Miss 
Digby  w^as  my  mother’s  cousin — she  is  no  longer  young, 
and  her  character  and  position  are  such  that  no  one  will 
dare  assail  anything  she  may  do.  I do  not  wish  our 
unhappy  story  to  become  the  theme  of  public  gossip ; 
therefore  I cannot  remove  you  to  the  hotel.  Ada 
Digby  is  not  over  fond  of  me,  but  she  is  a just,  and 
generous  woman,  and  she  will  do  what  is  best  for  both 
of  us.  You  may  rely  on  her  advice,  for  she  has  a clear 
head,  and  warm  heart ; lean  do  her  that  much  justice, 
through  I know  I am  no  great  favorite  with  her.” 


310  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Ckiire  was  thankful  to  escape  from  the  publicity  of 
the  hotel,  so  she  only  said  in  reply  : 

‘‘  It  is  all  the  same  to  me.  Shelter  fora  brief  season 
is  rJl  1 ask,  and  then  I will  go  upon  my  lonely  way  to 
seek  what  I shall  surely  find  ; the  means  of  bringing  to 
you  retribution  for  your  false,  and  shameful  conduct 
to  me.” 

‘‘  Don’t  threaten  me,  Rose  ; you  will  gain  nothing 
by  it.” 

‘‘  I have  already  received  at  your  hands  all  that  I am 
likely  to  accept  from  them,”  was  the  haughty  response, 
and  she  stepped  from  the  carriage  refusing  his  assist- 
ance. 

Thorne  opened  the  iron  gate,  and  they  crossed  a 
yard  filled  with  shrubbery,  and  evergreens.  He  rang 
at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  and  after  a few  moments’ 
delay,  a light  flashed  into  the  darkened  hall,  and  a 
clear,  even-toned  voice,  asked : 

Who  is  there,  asking  admittance  at  this  hour  of 
the  night  ? ” 

It  is  I,  cousin  ; Walter  Thorne.  Pra}^  open  your 
door,  for  I must  speak  wdth  you  to-night.” 

The  bolt  w^as  withdrawn,  and  a tall,  fair  woman, 
with  black  eyes,  and  hair  of  raven  darkness,  stood  be- 
fore them. 

Miss  Digby  courteously  welcomed  her  young  kins- 
man, and  glanced  with  some  surprise  at  his  compan- 
ion ; but  she  hastened  to  lead  the  way  into  the  ai:)ai  t- 
ment  she  had  just  left,  which  was  fitted  up  as  a kind 
of  laborator}^ 

Claire  sunk  into  the  seat  offered  her,  vaguely  won- 
dering by  what  name  her  husband  Avould  introduce 
l)er.  He  glanced  uneasily  at  her  Avhite  face,  and 
drawn  brow,  and  after  a moment’s  hesitation,  said  ; 


ADA  DIGBY. 


311 


Cousin,  I have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  my 
wife  here  to-night,  because  my  father  is  in  one  of  his 
worst  humors,  and  has  refused  to  permit  her  to  remain 
at  Thornhill.  I entreat  that  you  will  receive  her,  and 
for  the  present  keep  our  union  a secret  from  the  out- 
side world.” 

Miss  Digby  regarded  him  with  unmingled  surprise, 
and  she  glanced  compassionately  at  the  bowed  face  of 
the  poor  girl.  She  replied  to  Thorne  in  a subdued 
voice  : 

‘‘Your  wife,  Walter!  wedded  clandestinely,  and 
you  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  another  ? Oh  ! false, 
and  fickle  nature,  who  can  ever  put  faith  in  its  pos- 
sessor ? Wo  to  this  unhappy  creature  who  has  placed 
herself  between  5^ou  and  your  ruthless  father.” 

Thorne  seemed  to  quail  and  shiver  beneath  the  re- 
proach of  her  words.  In  the  same  tone  he  replied  : 

“ Yes,  it  was  a sad  hour  for  her  and  for  me,  when 
we  met.  I have  been  mad,  that  is  all.  I do  not  ask 
you  to  receive  this  poor  child  for  my  sake,  but  for  her 
own.  You  never  refuse  to  do  a kind  action,  and  this 
favor  will  be  the  last  I shall  ask  at  your  hands.” 

“ Of  course  I will  give  Mrs.  Thorne  shelter,  and 
such  support  in  her  difficult  position  as  I can  ; but 
how  will  you  answer  to  the  colonel  for  what  you  have 
so  imprudentlj^  done  ? ” 

“ I have  already  seen  him  and  Claire  was  turned 
from  his  house.  I will  leave  her  with  you,  and  return 
to  make  such  efforts  as  are  possible  to  appease  his 
wrath.  But  you  must  watch  over  this  poor  girl ; the 
shock  of  what  has  happened  to-night  has  made  her 
wild,  and  unmanageable.  Be  gentle  with  her,  but 
keep  a ( constant  watch  on  her,  I entreat.’’ 


312  THE  CLANDESTINE  MABRIAGE. 

Miss  Digby  turned  to  her  pallid  guest,  and  remov- 
ing her  bonnet,,  kindly  said  : 

You  are  very  welcome  to  my  quiet  home,  my  dear. 
You  shall  find  that  all  of  Walter’s  relatives  are  not  as 
harsh  and  cold,  as  the  father  from  whom  you  have 
met  such  treatment  to-night.  You  shall  stay  with  me 
till  Col.  Thorne  has  recovered  his  sense  of  right,  and  is 
ready  to  receive  you  with  the  welcome  due  to  his  son’s 
wife.” 

With  a dry,  hard  glitter  in  her  brilliant  eyes,  Claire 
replied : 

Thank  you,  but  my  visit  would  be  a very  long 
one,  if  it  only  ended  when  I am  received  at  Thornhill. 
I shall  never  go  there  again,  till  I enter  it  in  triumph 
to  put  my  foot  on  those  who  have  this  night  so  bitterly 
insulted  me.  Miss  Digby,  that  man  there  is  my  hus- 
band ; till  to-night  he  was  my  adoring  and  obsequious 
slave.  at  the  command  of  his  brutal  father,  he 

is  ready  to  throw  me  off ; to  deny  even  the  validity  of 
the  vows  he  has  plighted  to  me.  I speak  freely  to 
you,  an  utter  stranger,  but  I cannot  accept  your  hospi- 
tality without  stating  my  actual  position.  If  you  will 
let  me  remain  with  you  now,  I shall  be  very  grateful 
for  shelter  for  a few  hours.” 

Miss  Digby  impulsively  replied : 

‘‘  You  shall  stay  with  me  a year  if  you  choose,  my 
poor,  deluded  child,  and  I will  help  you  to  sustain 
your  cause.  Of  course  you  will  not  permit  yourself  to 
be  so  fatally  wronged  without  a struggle  to  retain 
your  position.  Oh!  Walter,  I could  not  have  believed 
this,  even  of  so  reckless  a being  as  you  have  ever 
been.” 

Tlionie  was  about  to  make  some  deprecating  reply, 
when  Claire  passionately  broke  in  : 


ADA  DIGBY. 


313 


No — they  shall  not  wrong  me  without  a struggle 
to  right  myself,  which  will  cover  with  infamy  the  man 
who  attempts  it.  I have  friends  who  will  stand  by 
me,  and  I will  summon  them  to  my  side.  The  good 
priest  who  united  us  will  come  at  my  bidding  to 
prove  that  I am  a lawful  wife.  But  it  is  only  for 
my  name’s  sake  that  I would  defend  my  cause  ; the 
love  I so  lately  cherished  for  that  false  craven,  has 
died  a death  so  violent  and  sudden,  that  nothing  can 
ever  resuscitate  it  again.” 

She  sank  back,  exhausted  by  her  own  excitement, 
and  seemed  on  the  eve  of  fainting.  Miss  Digby  has- 
tened  to  offer  a restorative,  which  she  poured  from 
one  of  the  bottles  on  her  shelves,  and  Thorne  gloomily 
said  : 

“ Our  marriage  seems  to  have  been  a great  mistake 
on  both  sides,  Claire,  and  the  sooner  it  is  dissolved, 
the  better,  perhaps,  for  both  of  us.  I make  no  effort 
to  deny  it,  you  see,  for  in  the  presence  of  my  cousin,  I 
admit  that  you  are  my  wife.  I shall  never  seek  to 
blacken  your  fame  by  denying  the  fact  of  the  ceremo- 
li}"  having  been  gone  through,  but  it  was  informal,  and 
my  father  believes  he  can  easily  have  it  pronounced  a 
nullity.  Since  we  have  so  bitterly  quarrelled,  it  will 
be  best  so,  I suppose.  I believed  you  to  be  an  angel 
of  sweetness,  and  I find  j^ou  a perfect  shrew.  You 
thought  me  a demi-god,  and  you  find  me  a selfish  com- 
monplace mortal.  After  what  has  passed  to-night,  the 
sooner  we  are  quit  of  each  other,  the  better  for  both  ot 
us.*’ 

A faint  color  came  to  Claire’s  white  cheeks,  her 
eyes  flashed,  and  with  an  attitude  of  superb  disdain, 
sue  pointed  to  the  door,  and  said : 


314  the  clandestine  marriage. 

‘‘  In  your  turn,  you  are  commanded  to  go,  and  1 
never  wish  to  set  my  eyes  on  you  again  till  the  hour 
arrives  in  which  I can  bring  to  you  such  retribution 
for  the  wrong  you  have  done  me  as  will  wring  your 
..  heart.  You  have  not  broken  mine,  though  you  have 
killed  it ; and  I shall  live  to  make  you  as  bitterly  rue 
the  day  we  met,  as  1 do  now.” 

A scornful  smile  came  to  Thorne’s  lips  as  he  said : 

This  is  a poor  return  for  the  adoring  love  I have 
lavished  on  you.  I hoped  and  believed  that  my  father 
would  relent,  and  receive  you,  or  I should  never  have 
brought  you  to  his  house  as  I did.” 

Love  ! is  the  feeling  you  dignify  with  that  name 
worthy  of  it  ? You  forged  letters  assuring  me  of  Col. 
Thorne’s  consent  to  our  union  ; you  led  me  to  believe 
that  I should  be  gladly  welcomed  to  his  house,  and 
you  took  me  there  to  meet  insult  and  contumely. 
You  cowered  before  your  imperious  father,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  sustain  me  in  his  cruel  presence.  I no 
longer  ask,  nor  will  I accept  protection  from  the  man 
who  failed  me  in  the  hour  in  which  I most  .needed  it.” 

So  be  it,”  replied  Thorne,  sullenly.  I might 
have  used  efforts  to  bring  my  father  around,  but  you 
have  rendered  that  course  useless.  Farewell,  Claire  ; 
T shall  not  intrude  on  you  again,  though  I shall  take 
such  measures  as  will  ensure  you  a sufficient  support.” 

She  haughtily  replied : 

You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  that,  sir  ; for 
I would  sooner  starve  than  touch  a morsel  purchased 
by  your  money.” 

The  door  closed  on  him  as  her  last  words  were  ut- 
tered, and  the  overwrought  creature  fell  back  into  vio- 
lent hysterics.  Miss  Digby  hastened  to  afford  her  such 


ADA  DIGBY. 


815 


assistance  as  she  needed ; and  when  the  first  violence 
of  the  paroxysm  had  subsided  into  low  moans  and  long 
sighs,  that  seemed  to  rend  the  poor  heart  from  which 
they  issued,  her  hostess  succeeded  in  conveying  her  to 
an  adjoining  room,  which  was  daintily  fitted  up  as  a 
sleeping  apartment. 

Miss  Digby  placed  Claire  upon  the  bed,  and  sat 
down  beside  her,  endeavoring  to  soothe  the  lacerated 
heart,  and  bring  the  forlorn  creature  to  speak  and  think 
more  calmly.  She  had  known  Walter  Thorne  from 
his  infancy,  and  she  had  little  faith  in  his  stability  or 
principles,  though  she  was  attracted,  as  others  were,  by 
his  brilliant  endowments  and  handsome  person. 

Until  this  night  she  had  not  believed  he  would  have 
risked  the  favor  of  his  father  by  violating  his  pledges 
to  the  betrothed  Col.  Thorne  had  chosen  for  him ; 
much  less  did  she  suppose  he  would  have  had  the  mo- 
ral courage  to  bring  the  rival  of  Agnes  Willard  to  the 
paternal  mansion,  in  the  mad  hope  that  she  would  be 
received  as  he  had  led  her  to  expect.  Walter  had 
evidently  done  a foolish  thing,  in  his  own  estimation  ; 
and  he  had  played  a desperate  game,  in  the  hope  that 
he  might  win  without  a single  chance  in  his  favor. 

As  Miss  Digby  looked  on  the  pallid  face  before  herr, 
she  thought  if  ever  man  had  a fair  excuse  for  such 
folly  this  high-strung  and  most  beautiful  creature 
afforded  it — yet  she  pitied  her  from  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  She  knew  Col.  Thorne  too  well  to  believe  that 
anything  could  induce  him  to  accept  any  other  as  his 
daughter-in-law  than  the  girl  he  had  himself  selected ; 
and  after  what  had  that  night  passed  between  tlie 
craven  husband  and  outraged  wife,  she  believed  a 
reconciliation  would  be  impossible. 


316  the  clandestine  marriage. 

She  asked  herself  what  was  to  be  the  fate  of  this 
young  creature,  with  her  marvellous  loveliness  and 
fiery  nature,  when  east  into  the  valley  of  humiliation, 
and  left  to  struggle  throughout  alone  ? She  was  most 
anxious  to  learn  all  the  particulars  of  the  marriage, 
that  she  might  afford  such  advice  and  assistance  as  the 
unfortunate  being  thrown  on  her  kindness  so  sorely 
needed ; and  she  ministered  to  her  guest  in  the  hope 
that  with  returning  composure,  she  would  speak  freely 
to  her  as  to  a friend  in  whom  she  could  confide. 

After  a few  hours  of  intense  suffering  Claire  re- 
covered sufficient  self-control  to  speak  composedly. 
She  faintly  said : 

I fear  that  I am  giving  you  too  much  trouble.  Miss 
Digby  ; and  I have  no  claim  on  you.  I hope  I shall 
be  better  to-morrow,  and  then  I will  go  away  from 
here,  shaking  from  my  feet  the  dust  of  this  place,  which 
I should  never  have  entered.  Ah  ! wo  is  me,  that  I ever 
listened  to  the  false  tongue  that  so  sweetly  beguiled 
me.” 

My  dear,”  replied  Miss  Digby,  gently,  I cannot 
think  that  the  heart  which  prompted  the  tongue  was 
utterly  false.  Walter  Thorne  has  great  faults,  but  he 
has  some  good  in  him  ; and  I am  unwilling  to  believe 
that  he  intended  to  wrong  you.  He  has  certainly  acted 
un  wiselj"  and  not  very  honorably  toward  his  betrothed 
Ijride,  in  giving  her  a rival  in  yourself,  but  I think  his 
excuse  is  that  he  loves  you.  Try  and  compose  your 
mind,  and  relate  to  me,  as  concisely  as  possible,  how 
all  this  has  come  about.  I may  be  able  to  help  you— 
and  I am  most  anxious  to  do  so.” 

Claire  feebly  shook  her  head. 

“ If  Walter  Thorne  had  truly  loved  me  he  could 


ADA  DIGBY. 


317 


never  have  deceived  me  as  he  has  done.  He  led  me  to 
believe  that  his  father  was  so  anxious  to  see  him  mar- 
ried that  want  of  fortune  on  the  part  of  his  bride  would 
be  of  no  consequence.  I did  not  dream  that  another 
woman  was  in  existence  who  has  any  claim  on  him. 

To-night,  when  I came  unbidden  into  the  presence 
of  that  harsh  old  man,  Walter  suffered  him  to  speak 
such  words  to  me  as  I can  never  forgive,  and  he  made 
no  effort  to  defend  or  sustain  me.  He  made  no  response 
to  my  appeal ; and  then — then — God  help  me  ! I 
would  have  sought  oblivion  in  death.  I fled  to  the 
stream  I had  noticed  as  we  passed  through  the  grounds  ; 
and  if  he  had  not  followed  me  very  quickly,  I — I 
should  have  thrown  myself  in. 

Walter  forced  me  away  and  brought  me  here.  But 
now  there  is  no  danger  that  I shall  attempt  suicide. 
Miss  Digby.  All  the  great  love  I felt  for  him  seemed 
to  die  out  of  my  heart,  as  he  held  me  struggling  in  his 
arms,  and  talked  in  his  old  deceitful  way  ; in  its  place 
surged  up  a feeling  of  bitter  hatred  and  repulsion ; 
and  in  those  moments  I could  have  stabbed  him  fa- 
tally.” 

My  dear,  this  is  terrible.  Do  not  speak  thus.” 

Claire  imperiously  went  on  : 

“Yes — I could  have  killed  him  then:  and  later, 
when  I sat  beside  him  in  the  carriage  that  brought  me 
hither,  I felt  the  same  impulse,  and  nothing  saved  him 
but  the  lack  of  a weapon.  I feel  no  softer  to  him  now  , 
and  the  only  safety  for  him  is  to  keep  himself  as  far  as 
possible  from  me.  I am  very  wicked,  I know  that ; 
but  till  to-night  I thought  myself  good.  I have  hith- 
erto known  nothing  but  love  and  kindness  ; and  until 
such  bitter  wrong  came  to  me,  I never  suspected  whafc 


318  the  clandestine  marriage. 


serpents  of  wrath  lay  coiled  in  my  nature,  ready  to 
spring  into  venomous  life.” 

Dear  child,  it  is  terrible  to  hear  so  young  a creature 
speak  thus.  You  are  in  the  gall  of  bitterness  now,  but 
a few  hours  hence  j^ou  will  feel  differently.  I possess 
some  influence  with  Col.  Thorne,  and  I promise  to  use 
it  to  bring  about  a reconciliation.  If  he  consents  to 
receive  you  as  his  son’s  wife,  you  can  surely  consent  to 
forgive  what  has  passed  to-night.  Walter  has  never 
been  able  to  withstand  his  father ; and  he  is  entirely 
dependent  upon  him.  You  must  remember  this  in  ex- 
cuse for  him.”  ^ 

With  undiminished  bitterness,  Claire  replied : 

Nothing  can  excuse  him  to  me.  His  false  and  cow- 
ardly nature  came  out  too  clearly  to-night,  and  I saw 
the  idol  of  my  imagination  stripped  of  all  the  illusions 
I had  thrown  around  him ; he  showed  not  only  the 
feet  of  cla}^,  but  the  whole  man  is  of  material  no  less 
base.  Had  our  positions  been  reversed,  I should  have 
thought  only  of  him ; but  he  thought  only  of  himself, 
and  what  he  should  lose  if  he  remained  true  to  the 
vows  he  had  plighted.  Col.  Thorne  must  not  be  asked 
to  receive  me,  for  I will  never  enter  his  doors  on  suf- 
ferance. In  that  house  I will  reign  as  a sovereign  queen 
when  I am  accepted  as  its  mistress.” 

“ But,”  remonstrated  Miss  Digby,  “ you  must  con- 
cede something,  if  you  would  not  ruin  your  life.  You 
can  win  your  way  to  the  old  man’s  heart,  and  make 
him  proud  to  acknowledge  you  as  Walter’s  wife;  and 
if  the  chance  is  afforded  you,  it  is  your  duty  to  do 
this.” 

‘‘  It  may  be,  but  I shall  make  no  such  effort.  After 
the  indignities  of  this  night,  I must  be  lured  back , 


ADA  DIGB7. 


for  I will  not  bow  down  to  those  who  have  insulted 
and  injured  me.” 

Finding  how  impracticable  she  was  in  her  present 
mood,  Miss  Digby  asked: 

Are  you  calm  enough  to  give  me  a history  of  your 
marriage,  and  how  your  friends  came  to  allow  so  young 
a creature  as  you  are  to  bestow  her  hand  upon  a stran- 
ger without  inquiring  into  his  antecedents  ? ” 

Claire  burst  into  tears — the  first  she  had  shed  that 
night.  Oh  ! they  did  not — they  did  not.  Mamma 
would  have  saved  me  from  this  misery,  but  I was  wil- 
ful and  disobedient.  I took  my  fate  in  m}^  own  hands, 
and  consented  to  marry  Walter  clandestinely.  I was 
too  young  and  ignorant  to  know  what  might  hereafter 
be  necessary  to  prove  my  marriage  ; and  until  to-night, 
I never  dreamed  that  its  validity  could  be  questioned. 
I heard  that  terrible  old  man  say  to  Walter  that  he 
would  have  it  set  aside,  and  he  never  opened  his  lips 
to  protest  against  such  indignity.” 

‘‘  I will  never  forgive  him,  never ! For  one  little 
month  he  treated  me  as  a goddess,  and  made  me  as 
happy  as  any  mortal  ever  was ; and  to-night  he  had  the 
cruelty  to  say  to  me  that  a few  brief  weeks  of  perfect 
joy  are  more  than  are  vouchsafed  to  most  human  crea- 
tures.” 

My  husband  surrendered  my  rights  to  his  father. 
Miss  Digby,  and  he  will  let  him  work  his  Avill ; but  I 
will  repay  him.  I have  vowed  within  myself  to  do  so, 
and  I shall  certainly  find  means  to  bring  home  to  him 
every  pang  of  humiliation  and  outraged  love  he  has 
made  me  suffer.” 

“ But,  Mrs.  Thorne,  it  is  wrong  to  cherish  such  feel- 
ings. It  is  contrary  to  Christian  principles,  and ” 


320  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Claire  hastened  to  interrupt  the  impending  lecture ; 

Don’t  call  me  by  that  name — call  me  Claire,  for 
that  is  my  name.  They  will  take  from  me  the  right  to 
bear  Walter’s,  nor  do  I wish  to  claim  it  now.  I am 
Claire  Lapierre,  and  harder  than  a stone  will  he  find 
my  heart  when  the  day  arrives  in  which  he  shall  appeal 
to  it  in  the  name  of  the  love  I once  felt  for  him.  Oh  ! 
Miss  Digby,  pity  me,  and  pardon  my  violence.  My 
heart  is  crushed  beneath  a weight  of  wo  I did  not  lately 
believe  it  could  have  borne  ; but  I will  try  and  calm 
myself,  and  give  you  a clear  history  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  me  during  my  short  life.” 

Miss  Digby  saw  that  this  was  not  the  time  to  reason 
with  the  wretched  and  half- distraught  creature,  who 
so  kneely  felt  the  awful  change  in  her  life,  which  had 
fallen  like  a thunderbolt  upon  her.  She  thought  it 
natural  that  Claire  should  resent  the  facility  with  which 
her  weak  husband  had  yielded  to  the  arbitrary  will  of 
his  father,  and  she  felt  the.  tenderest  sympathy  and 
compassion  for  her. 

She  gently  said : 

Tell  me  all,  my  child.  Let  me  understand  your 
exact  position,  that  I may  seek  and  find  some  remedy 
for  all  this  evil.” 

“ That  will  be  hopeless,”  was  the  gloomy  response  ; 
but  Claire  went  on  to  give  the  desired  relation.  At  its 
close,  Miss  Digbj^  soothingly  said  : 

“ Thank  you,  Claire,  for  so  fully  confiding  in  me. 
I see  nothing  in  the  way  of  a happy  ending  to  all  this, 
except  Col.  Thorne’s  insane  desire  to  make  Agnes  Wil- 
lard his  son’s  wife,  in  spite  of  every  obstacle  to  its  ac- 
complishment. In  birth  and  breeding  you  are  quite 
equal  to  Walter,  and  the  want  of  fortune  is  of  tri- 


ADA  DIGBY. 


321 


fling  importance  ; there  is  money  enough  and  to  spare, 
with  only  one  child  to  inherit  it.  You  must  sleep  now, 
and  wdien  you  awake,  the  bitter  resentment  you  natu- 
rally feel  will  be  softened,  and  you  will  be  more  in- 
clined to  listen  to  reason.  Hope  for  the  best,  my  child, 
for  I think  I can  induce  Mr.  Thorne  to  do  what  is  right 
by  you  and  Walter.” 

A wistful  look  came  into  Claire’s  eyes,  and  she  im- 
pulsively said : 

“ Oh  ! if  you  could — if  you  could,  I might  consent 
to  forego  my  vengeance,  in  spite  of  all  the  hard  words 
I have  uttered.  We  might  regain  a faint  shadow  of 
the  happiness  we  have  lost,  and — and — and  I don’t 
know — I might  learn  to  love  Walter  a little  yet.” 

You  will  learn  to  love  him  a great  deal,  and  to  re- 
gret the  bitterness  with  which  you  have  spoken  to- 
night. There,  my  dear,  take  these  drops  ; they  are  a 
strong  sedative,  and  by  morning  I think  you  will  be 
calm,  and  amenable  to  reason.” 

Claire  swallowed  the  potion,  and  with  a sudden  look 
of  pain  sank  back,  moaning  : 

“ Oh  ! what  a difference  in  my  life  a few  hours  have 
made  ! As  Ave  came  hither  this  afternoon,  all  the  sunny 
confidence  of  love  and  hope  were  in  my  heart ; now 
there  is  only  the  night  of  despair.  Leave  me  alone  to 
wrestle  Avith  my  sorrow,  good  friend,  for  I must  fight 
my  battle  without  help.” 

Miss  Digby  kissed  her,  turned  down  the  light,  and 
left  the  room.  Several  times  during  the  night  she 
came  to  the  door ; but  when  the  sound  of  her  light 
footfall  was  heard,  the  poor  sufferer  stifled  the  moans 
that  rose  to  her  lips,  and  lay  with  staring  eyes  and  fe« 
20 


322  the  clandesttne  marriage. 

vercd  frame,  living  over  again  the  brief  bright  dream 
of  love,  ending  in  such  blank  despair. 

By  morning  she  was  tossing  in  fever,  and  raging  in 
the  wildest  delirium.  In  this  condition  was  she  found 
by  her  hostess,  when  she  entered  her  room  to  inquire 
how  she  had  passed  the  night. 

Miss  Digby  had  devoted  much  of  her  lonely  life  to 
the  study  of  medicine,  though  she  did  not  practice  it 
as  a profession,  nor  had  she  received  a diploma  from 
any  of  the  schools.  But  she  possessed  the  fine  instinct 
and  subtle  power  of  judgment  which  belongs  to  emi- 
nently successful  physicians,  and  the  first  glance  she 
cast  on  the  dilated  eyes  and  flushed  face  of  her  j^oung 
guest,  assured  her  that  the  terrible  shock  of  the  pre- 
vious night  had  produced  brain  fever. 

She  lost  no  time  in  applying  such  remedies  as  she 
knew  were  necessary,  but  the  patient  grew  steadily 
worse ; and,  afraid  to  trust  to  her  own  skill.  Miss  Dig- 
by summoned  other  medical  assistance.  She  had  to 
parry  the  inquiries  of  Dr.  Brandon  as  well  as  she  could, 
as  to  who  this  young  stranger  was,  and  how  she  came 
to  be  under  her  roof.  She  coldly  replied  to  the  queries 
of  the  inquisitive  physician,  b}^  saying : 

Thisj'oung  lady  is  a connexion  of  mine.  She  came 
to  me  only  yesterday,  and  it  is  unfortunate  that  she 
should  have  fallen  ill  so  soon  after  her  arrival.  I hope 
that  you  will  be  able  to  do  more  for  her,  doctor,  than  I 
have.” 

Dr.  Brandon  shook  his  head. 

Where  you  fail  I shall  scarcely  hope  to  be  success- 
ful, for  your  skill  is  quite  equal  to  that  of  the  best  of 
us.  This  young  creature  is  extremely  ill ; she  must 
lately  have  undergone  some  terrible  shock  lo  bring 


ADA  DIGBY. 


328 


her  to  such  a pass  as  this,”  and  he  looked  inquiringly 
at  Miss  Digby. 

She  remembered  her  promise  to  Thorne,  and  with 
impassive  gravity,  replied  : 

The  cause  of  her  illness  is  not  what  we  have  to 
consider — the  means  of  cure  are  of  more  importance 
just  now.  Since  you  approve  my  course,  all  I have  to 
do  is  to  persevere  in  it  and  bring  her  through  by  care- 
ful nursing.” 

The  baffled  inquisitor  bowed,  and  stiffly  replied  : 

‘‘I  can  recommend  no  better  course.  Miss  Digby. 
I wish  you  a very  good  morning,  but  if  you  should 
need  me  again,  of  course  I shall  be  at  your  command.” 

Left  alone  with  the  patient,  the  kind-hearted  nurse 
stood  many  moments  looking  down  upon  the  fair  face 
which  had  already  begun  to  wear  a pinched  and  worn 
aspect,  and  the  widely  opened  eyes  had  in  their  depths 
an  expression  of  fathomless  wo  that  was  pitiful  to  be- 
hold. Her  long  brown  hair  was  thrown  in  disorder 
over  the  pillow,  and  mechanically  Miss  Digby  began  to 
wind  one  of  the  shining  braids  around  her  finger. 

The  sick  girl  jerked  her  head  away  and  muttered : 

“ They  are  his  curls — he  loved  to  dally  with  them — 
and  no  one  else  shall  touch  them.  Oh,  Walter,  Wal- 
ter, where  are  you  ? why  do  you  not  come  to  me  ? Oh, 
you  have  killed  my  heart ! it  is  dead — dead — dead  ! ” 

Many  times  before  had  she  repeated  the  last  words, 
and  a paroxysm  of  insane  fury  always  followed  them,  in 
which  she  uttered  most  appalling  threats  of  future 
vengeance  against  the  recreant  lover  who  had  worked 
her  so  much  wo.  The  same  result  ensued  now,  and 
her  friend  was  forced  to  use  every  effort  to  bring  her 
back  to  calmness. 


324  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Miss  Digby  watched  and  waited  for  some  communn 
.nation  from  Thorne,  but  the  hours  of  that  long  day 
passed  on  and  none  came.  A second,  third  and  fourth 
went  by  with  the  same  result ; and  indignant  at  his 
neglect  of  the  being  he  had  left  on  her  hands — probably 
to  die — she  wrote  a few  curt  lines  to  him,  informing 
him  of  the  condition  in  which  his  wife  lay. 

The  note  was  answered  by  Col.  Thorne,  in  a charac- 
teristic manner ; 

“ Thornhill,  October  11th,  18—. 

“ My  Dear  Ada  : — As  my  son  is  not  at  home,  I took 
the  liberty  of  opening  your  communication  to  him  and 
take  it  on  myself  to  reply  to  it. 

I have  sent  Walter  away  that  no  further  meeting 
should  take  place  between  him  and  the  young  person 
under  your  charge.  Your  own  good  sense  must  show 
you  that  her  claims  on  him  can  never  be  allowed — 
they  have  both  played  the  fool,  and  now  they  must 
pay  the  price  of  their  folly. 

I am  sorry  to  hear  that  the  girl  takes  the  affair  so 
much  to  heart,,  as  to  become  seriously  ill  because  her 
Walter  is  banished  from  her  presence,  but  I wish  her 
to  be  made  to  understand  that  another  meeting  be- 
tween them  will  not  be  permitted.  I have  sent  Wal- 
ter to  pay  his  devoirs  where  they  are  due,  and  to  as- 
sist his  betrothed  in  watching  over  her  dying  father. 

I have  already  taken  the  preliminary  steps  toward 
dissolving  the  flimsy  tie  that  binds  him  to  the  obscure 
creature  whose  beauty  so  fatally  ensnared  him.  You 
may  well  believe  that  a hard  struggle  was  necessary  to 
win  from  him  his  consent  to  obej^  my  commands,  but 
it  was  won. 


ADA  DIGBY. 


325 


‘‘  Of  course  I conquered,  for  Walter  is  one  of  those 
men  designed  only  for  ornamental  uses,  and  the  alter- 
native of  being  left  to  battle  alone  with  life  sufficed  at 
last  to  bring  him  to  reason.  I made  him  see  that  1. 
was  in  deadly  earnest,  and  his  unstable  nature  gave 
me  the  victory. 

‘‘It  was  well  for  him  that  such  was  the  result,  for 
if  he  had  persisted  in  his  defiance  of  my  wishes,  I 
should  have  cast  him  off  and  never  lifted  my  finger  to 
aid  him,  though  I had  seen  him  brought  to  the  most 
abject  state  of  destitution.  You  think  me  very  hard, 
no  doubt,  but  I have  ventured  all  my  hopes  in  my  son, 
and  you  best  know  why  I have  nothing  else  to  live  for. 

“ I have  equally  set  my  heart  on  claiming  as  my 
daughter  the  girl  I have  selected  for  his  wife,  and 
Walter  shall  certainly  marry  her  as  soon  as  he  is  free 
to  do  so.  As  to  the  young  simpleton  who  thought  to 
win  her  way  to  my  favor  through  her  beauty,  I do  not 
wish  to  be  hard  on  her.  I am  ready  to  provide  suita- 
bly for  her ; and  as  an  earnest  of  my  intentions,  I en- 
close two  hundred  dollars  to  cover  such  expenses  as 
may  be  incurred  through  her  illness.  When  she  is 
well  enough  to  return  to  the  secluded  valley  in  which 
Walter  unfortunately  found  her,  I will  advance  what 
may  be  necessary  for  her  traveling  expenses,  and  fur- 
thermore settle  on  her  the  sum  of  four  hundred  dollars 
a year,  to  be  paid  semi-annually. 

“ I tliink  that  is  acting  with  great  liberality  on  my 
part,  but  I wish  you  to  impress  on  her  that  if  she  at- 
tempts to  follow  Walter  up,  or  persecute  him  in  any 
way  on  account  of  his  midsummer  madness,  I will 
withdraw  all  assistance  from  her. 

“ Your  kind  heart  will  suggest  to  you  the  best  ws^y 


326  the  clandestine  marriage. 


of  placing  before  this  young  person  the  true  state  of 
affairs. 

‘‘Respectfully,  your  friend,  W.  Thorne.” 

Miss  Digby  read  these  lines  beside  the  couch  of 
her  patient,  who  was  then  lying  in  a death-like  sleep, 
and  she  knew  that  on  her  awakening  depended  her 
fate.  She  might  sink  into  the  arms  of  death,  or  recov- 
er to  face  the  blighted  existence  that  lay  before  her. 
Miss  Digby  scarcely  thought  she  would  die,  for  she 
was  young,  and  her  constitution  was  unbroken — 
though,  as  Claire  had  so  pathetically  declared  through- 
out her  delirium,  her  heart  was  dead. 

“ I will  wait  till  her  fate  is  decided,  and  then,  if  she 
lives,  go  to  Col.  Thorne  myself,”  thought  the  faithful 
nurse  ; “ should  she  recover,  I will  use  the  influence 
that  I alone  possess  over  this  hard  man,  and  try  to 
bring  him  to  feel  compassion  for  those  two  imprudent 
young  creatures.  Yet  Walter  must  be  the  true  son  of 
his  father  to  go  away  even  at  his  command,  without 
coming  here  to  see  his  wife  before  parting  from  her 
forever.” 

The  violence  of  the  fever  had  impelled  Miss  Digby 
to  cut  off  the  hair  of  the  sick  girl,  and  the  long  bronz- 
ed locks  lay  on  a table  beside  her.  Twilight  gathered 
in  the  silent  room,  yet  Claire  slept  on,  though  her 
breathing  was  more  regular,  and  a faint  dew  began  to 
appear  on  her  fever-parched  skin.  At  intervals  Miss 
Digby  moistened  the  lips  of  the  sleeper  with  some  cool- 
ing liquid  which  was  at  hand,  and  sat  awaiting  the 
crisis  that  would  give  her  back  to  life  or  end  in  the 
sombre  darkness  of  the  tomb. 

The  room  was  buried  in  shadow,  for  the  fire  had 
burned  low  and  no  light  had  yet  been  brought  in  by  the 


ADA  DIGBY. 


327 


servant.  ' he  silent  watcher  was  suddenly  startled  by 
a deep  sigh — almost  a sob — that  broke  the  stillness  ; and 
she  arose  and  turned  toward  the  door  which  opened 
into  the  adjoining  apartment.  Before  her  stood  Walter 
Thorne,  looking  wild  and  haggard  ! and,  in  spite  of 
her  warning  motion  to  keep  back,  he  came  swiftly  for- 
ward and  drew  near  to  the  bed  on  which  the  wasted 
shadow  of  her  he  had  so  fatally  wooed  and  won  was 
lying. 

He  hoarsely  asked : 

“ Is  she  dead  ? Have  I killed  her  by  my  cruel  de- 
sertion. Oh,  Ada,  have  some  pity  on  me,  and  say  that 
life  is  not  extinct  in  the  heart  I have  so  basely  tor- 
tured.” 

‘‘Come  with  me,”  said  Miss  Digby,  in  a low  tone, 
but  orfe  of  such  authority  that  Thorne  felt  forced  to 
obey  her.  “ She  is  not  dead,  but  to  awake  from  this 
saving  sleep  and  find  j^-ou  beside  her  will  certainly  de- 
stroy her.” 

He  followed  her  into  the  next  room,  in  which  a lamp 
was  burning  ; and  closing  the  door  behind  her.  Miss 
Digby  coldly  asked : 

“ Why  are  you  here,  Walter,  when  your  father  be- 
lieves you  to  be  on  your  way  to  Philadelphia  ? Since 
you  have  pledged  your  word  to  him  to  give  up  your 
poor  young  wife,  you  have  no  right  to  come  hither.” 

He  almost  humbly  replied  : 

“ I know  that,  Ada,  but  I could  not  keep  away.  I 
felt  sore  and  bitter  toward  my  darling,  because  she 
spoke  such  harsh  words  to  me  the  niglit  I brought  her 
hither,  and  I yielded  to  my  father’s  exactions.  But 
when  I had  gone  some  distance  on  my  journey,  I 
could  no  longer  hold  out  against  her ; I felt  as  if  I 


328  the  clandestine  marriage. 

must  return  and  obtain  her  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  1 
am  compelled  to  do  her.  Yes,  compelled^  Ada,  for  I 
cannot  bring  her  down  to  the  depths  of  poverty — steep 
myself  to  the  lips  in  its  bitter  waters.  We  must  part, 
but  we  can  at  least  carry  with  us  a less  painful  sting 
than  the  memory  of  that  last  meeting  would  be  if 
nothing  further  passed  between  us.” 

Miss  Digby  replied  with  some  excitement : 

‘‘  You  are  very  weak,  Walter,  and  untrue  to  every 
pledge  you  give.  For  Heaven’s  sake,  choose  a line  of 
action  and  adhere  to  it,  but  do  not  vacillate  in  this  man- 
ner. You  have  elected  to  give  up  this  unfortunate 
child,  and  accept  the  bride  your  father  has  chosen  for 
you,  yet  you  turn  upon  your  journey  to  her  to  come 
back  here  and  arouse  a deeper  sense  of  wrong  and  an- 
guish in  the  heart  of  the  girl  you  have  forsaken.^  She 
cannot  endure  much  more — the  sight  of  you  when  she 
awakes  from  that  death-like  sleep — if  she  ever  does 
awake — would  be  fatal  to  her.  She  can  bear  no  emo- 
tion in  her  present  weak  state.” 

“ Oh,  Ada,  my  cousin,  pity  me  and  help  me,  for  I am 
the  most  wretched  of  man.  I have  wrecked  that  young 
life,  when  I meant  to  make  it  happy  ; I am,  as  you  say, 
weak  as  water ; I have  no  strength  to  contend  with 
fate — and  that  is  against  us.” 

With  some  scorn,  she  said  : 

It  would  not  be  if  you  possessed  the  self-respect 
and  energy  of  a man,  but  I excuse  you  thus  far  that  I 
know  how  useless  you  have  been  reared.  You  have 
fine  aesthetic  tastes  that  must  be  gratified  at  the  cost 
even  of  honor  and  happiness.  Yau  have  from  your 
infancy  been  lapped  in  the  soft  delights  of  life,  and 
therefore  you  are  unfitted  to  face  its  stern  requirements 


ADA  DIGBY. 


329 


should  your  father  carry  out  his  threat  of  disinheri- 
tauce.  I comprehend  all  this,  Walter  ; but  above  all, 
there  is  something  wanting  in  yourself.  Had  there  not 
been,  you,  in  your  selfish  passion,  would  never  have 
subjected  that  unfortunate  girl  to  the  wretched  ordeal 
through  which  she  must  pass.  You  were  guilty  of  the 
crime  of  forgery  to  win  her  consent  to  a clandestine 
marriage,  and  now  you  give  her  up  at  the  command  of 
as  flinty  a heart  as  ever  beat  in  a human  bosom.  Go 
upon  your  way,  and  leave  her  to  scorn  and  hate  you, 
for  that  will  be  her  only  salvation  in  the  years  to  come. 
Your  self-love  may  be  wounded  by  the  thought  that 
she  will  do  so,  but  for  her  it  will  be  better  than  any 
tender  or  kinder  feeling  toward  him  who  has  wrought 
her  so  much  evil.” 

Thorne  shrank  beneath  her  pitiless  tones,  and  de- 
precatingly  said  : 

You  have  little  mercy,  Ada.  You  feel  only  for 
her — and  God  knows  that  I too  suffer  deeply  in  giving 
her  up.” 

‘‘  Your  sufferings  will  be  easily  forgotten  ; you  will 
console  yourself  with  a rich  wife  ; and  surrounded  by 
the  luxury  you  value  far  above  this  poor  victim  of  your 
selfishness,  you  will  soon  cease  to  feel  even  remorse 
for  her  broken  life  and  soiled  fame.” 

‘‘You  have  no  mercy,  Ada  : yet  I swear  to  you  that 
if  it  were  possible,  I would  cling  to  Claire  in  spite  of 
the  bitter  words  she  used  to  me,  ix  your  presence,  when 
[ brought  her  hither.” 

“Yet  you  have  permitted  your  father  already  to  take 
measures  to  1 reak  the  tie  that  binds  you  to  her.  J 
have  his  own  assurance  that  such  is  the  fact.  Court  is 
now  in  session  in  this  town,  and  before  it  adjourns 


330  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Col.  Thorne’s  influence  and  money  will  secure  the  de- 
cree that  frees  you.  There  will  be  no  one  to  speak  a 
word  in  opposition;  no  voice  will  be  raised  to  defend 
the  cause  of  this  friendless  and  unknown  creature.  I 
know  with  what  facility  divorces  are  granted  in  this 
State  ; and  no  opposition  will  be  made  to  this  one. 
You  go  away  to  avoid  the  scandal,  and  Claire  will  rise 
from  her  sick  bed  to  find  herself  a blighted  outcast. 
The  friend  who  took  her  in  at  her  father’s  death  may 
refuse  again  to  receive  her  ; and  I ask  you  what  is 
then  to  be  her  fate  ? ” 

Thorne  eagerly  replied  : 

‘‘  She  shall  never  want  while  I have  a dollar.  Don’t 
think  me  so  base  as  to  leave  her  without  a provision  : 
that  was  stipulated  for . when  I yielded  to  my  father’s 
demands.” 

Miss  Digby  disdainfully  replied  : 

I know — money,  the  grand  panacea  for  all  ills,  in 
the  estimation  of  such  men  as  you  and  your  father,  is 
to  be  offered  her  ; but  if  I read  aright  the  proud  and 
fiery  nature  of  this  young  girl,  she  will  never  accept  it 
from  either  of  you.” 

What  then  am  I to  do  ? I have  pledged  my  word 
to  my  father  to  give  Claire  up ; the  petition  for  a di- 
vorce has  already  been  presented ; for  he  lost  no  time  in 
preparing  it ; and  you  know  how  skilful  a lawyer  he 
is.  He  will  carry  it  through  without  delay  ; and  should 
I run  restive  then,  he  will  be  more  implacable  than 
ever.  Claire  must  accept  what  is  offered  her.  You 
must  find  means  to  induce  her  to  do  so.  I should  be 
wretched  if  I could  not  force  on  her  some  atonement 
for  the  suffering  I have  caused  her.” 

‘‘  There  is  but  one  atonement  she  would  accept.  If 


ADA  DIGBY. 


331 


I mediate  with  your  father  perhaps  he  will  relent, 
Should  I undertake  to  do  so,  would  you  gladly  and 
willingly  take  your  wife  to  your  heart  again,  Walter?  ” 

I would — I swear  it  before  Heaven.  I would  try 
to  make  her  forget  the  wrong  I did  her ; I would  cher- 
ish her  as  the  darling  of  my  life.  Oh,  Ada  ? if  you 
can  accomplish  such  a miracle  as  that,  I shall  owe  you 
eternal  gratitude.’  ’ 

Miss  Digby  earnestly  regarded  him,  and  then  said  : 

I will  then  make  the  attempt.  My  charge  will  not 
awake  for  at  least  an  hour  yet,  and  I can  leave  Barbara 
to  watch  over  her  while  I am  gone.” 

I scarcely  know  how  to  thank  you,  Ada ; but  do  not 
call  Barbara  ; I will  sit  beside  her,  and  I swear  to  you 
that  I will  make  no  attempt  to  disturb  her.” 

She  hesitated  a moment,  and  then  impressively  said: 

I will  grant  your  request  if  you  will  promise  to  be 
perfectly  quiet,  and  should  Claire  move  or  show  symp- 
toms of  awaking,  that  you  will  at  once  leave  the  room 
and  send  my  servant  to  her.  Barbara  will  know  what 
is  to  be  done  for  her ; on  opening  her  eyes  the  shock  of 
finding  you  near  her  would  defeat  all  my  efforts  to  save 
the  life  that  hangs  on  a hair  as  slender  as  that  which 
upheld  the  sword  of  Damocles.” 

You  may  trust  me.  I pledge  you  my  word  to  obey 
your  directions  implicitly.” 

Miss  Digby  unclosed  the  door  which  gave  into  the 
room  of  the  sick  girl,  and  the  two  passed  noiselessly  in- 
to it.  The  pallid  form  lay  upon  the  bed  in  the  same 
position  in  which  they  had  left  it,  the  lips  partially  un- 
closed, and  the  heavy  eye-lids  folded  in  the  sleep  which 
might  be  her  last.  The  faithful  nurse  bent  over  her  a 
few  moments,  and  then  whispering  a few  directions  to 


832  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Thorne,  she  left  the  apartment  to  go  on  the  errand 
from  which  she  hoped  some  good  might  result. 

Walter  Thorne  sat  down  in  that  darkened  room  to 
watch  for  a brief  season  over  the  stric)ii»i  being  who,  so 
short  a time  before^  had  been  the  radiant  embodiment  of 
youth  and  joy.  As  he  beheld  Claire  thus,  all  his  pas- 
sion for  her  returned,  mingled  with  remorse  for  his  late 
conduct  to  her,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  fer- 
vently prayed.  He  petitioned  for  her  restoration  and 
for  success  to  the  mission  on  which  Miss  Digby  had 
gone  ; but  even  while  he  prayed  he  had  little  faith  in 
her  efforts  to  serve  him,  however  well  meant  they 
were. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


COL.  THORNE  S SECRET. 


S Miss  Digby  walked  rapidly  toward  Thornhill, 


jL\.  the  clear  autumn  air  fanned  her  cheeks  and  brought 
to  them  a faint  color,  which  in  some  measure  relieved 
the  look  of  lassitude  and  care  that  many  nights  of 
watching  had  brought  even  to  her  strong  and  elastic 


frame 


She  passed  through  the  town  and  moved  toward  the 
stately  pile  which  crowned  an  eminence  about  half  a 
mile  distant  from  it.  Years  had  passed  over  her  head 
since  she  last  stood  beneath  the  portal  of  that  house, 
and  she  had  not  thought  that  any  inducement  could  be 
offered  her  to  enter  it  again  while  Col.  Thorne  re- 
mained its  master. 

Ada  Digby  was  a cousin  of  the  deceased  Mrs.  Thorne^ 


COLON- EL  TRORXE’S  SECRET. 


333 


and  for  many  years  had  been  an  inmate  of  her  family. 
She  was  then  young,  beloved  and  gay  ; and  now  she 
was  a sad-eyed  woman  who  had  drank  deeply  of  the 
cup  of  sorrow  mixed  for  her  by  the  hand  of  the  man 
from  whom  she  was  about  to  solicit  a favor. 

Col.  Thorne  had  wrought  dissension  between  herself 
and  the  object  of  her  affections,  that  he  might  win  her 
himself  to  fill  the  place  of  the  wife  he  buried  when  Ada 
Digby  had  attained  her  twentieth  year.  A short  time 
previous  to  that  event  she  had  given  her  troth  to 
George  Balfour,  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  her  guar- 
dian, who  refused  his  consent  on  the  score  of  inequal- 
ity of  fortune.  Miss  Digby  possessed  an  estate  that 
yielded  her  an  ample  support  as  a single  woman,  but 
her  lover  had  nothing. 

Goaded  by  the  sarcasms  of  Col.  Thorne,  Balfour 
bade  his  betrothed  farewell,  and  emigrated  to  a warm 
and  unhealthy  climate  in  the  hope  that  the  facilities 
for  making  money  there  would  enable  him  to  return  in 
a few  3^ears  rich  enough  to  claim  his  bride.  The  lovers 
were  to  correspond  regularly,  but  not  a single  letter 
was  allowed  to  reach  its  destination.  They  were  care- 
fully intercepted,  and  in  a moment  of  outraged  pride 
Balfour  offered  his  hand  to  the  daughter  of  his  part- 
ner and  was  accepted. 

The  pride  of  Ada  Digby  sustained  her  through  this 
ordeal,  and,  deceived  by  her  outward  calmness.  Col. 
Thorne  believed  that  he  might  venture  to  speak  of  his 
own  hopes.  A year  had  elapsed  since  the  death  of  his 
wife,  and  he  considered  that  quite  time  enough  to  conse- 
crate to  the  memoiy  of  the  woman  who,  for  years,  had 
not  held  the  first  place  in  his  heart.  Unconsciously  to 
herself,  Ada  had  won,  and  held  that  position,  and  when 


834  the  clandestine  marriage. 

her  guardian  spoke  of  love  to  her,  she  shrank  from  him 
almost  with  repulsion,  and  refused. to  become  the  mis- 
tress of  his  splendid  home. 

In  his  fierce  anger  at  her  positive  rejection  of  his  suit. 
Colonel  Thorne  taunted  her  with  the  desertion  of  her 
lover,  and  betrayed  that  to  his  hand  she  owed  the 
slight  she  had  received.  He  was  unwise  enough  to 
assert  that  he  had  withheld  the  letters,  and  still  had 
them  in  his  possession.  She  demanded  the  proof  of  his 
assertions,  and  it  was  finally  given  by  producing  four 
letters  written  by  Balfour,  and  two  by  herself. 

Grasping  in  her  cold  hand  these  evidences  of  his  base 
treachery,  Ada  left  the  room  in  which  she  had  received 
)iim,  commanding  him  never  again  to  appear  in  her 
kiuse.  After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Thorne  she  had  taken 
po^'session  of  her  early  home,  accompanied  by  a widow- 
ed and  childless  old  lady,  who  had  been  the  friend  of 
her  mother,  and  she  found  her  income  quite  sufficient 
for  the  quiet  style  of  living  she  preferred.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  the  studies  that  fascinated  her,  and  per- 
mitted no  other  lover  to  approach  her ; but  every  year, 
by  letter.  Colonel  Thorne  renewed  the  offer  of  his  hand 
in  formal  terms. 

He  had  refused  to  obey  her  prohibition  to  seek  her 
presence,  and  a tacit  reconciliation  had  been  effected ; 
but  she  steadily  refused  to  receive  him  in  her  own 
home,  and  vouchsafed  no  reply  to  the  proposal  which 
annually  came.  For  seven  years  this  singular  farce 
had  been  enacted  with  what  hope  of  success  it  would 
have  beSn  difficult  to  discover;  but  Colonel  Thome 
was  a man  who  never  relinquished  any  scheme  on 
which  he  had  set  his  heart,  and  he  always  asserted  that 
perseverance  would  win  success  in  any  undertaking. 


COLONEL  THORNE'S  SECRET. 


335 


Now,  to  this  hard,  and  unscrupulous  man,  Miss  Dig- 
by  was  about  to  appeal  to  show  such  mercy  to  his  son 
as  he  had  never  manifested  toward  any  human  being. 
She  did  not  slacken  her  pace  when  she  had  entered 
the  grounds  which  had  once  been  so  familiar  to 
her,  for  she  had  an  object  to  attain,  and  she  fear- 
ed to  lose  a moment  of  time  lest  the  invalid  should 
awake  in  her  absence,  and  some  imprudence  on  tlie 
part  of  Waiter  betray  his  presence  near  her.  Her 
mind  was  too  intently  occupied  with  the  intention  that 
brought  her  there  to  allow  her  to  think  of  herself,  and 
she  moved  toward  the  house  as  calmly  as  if  about  to 
make  an  ordinary  call. 

On  the  lofty  portico  sat  the  master  of  the  mansion, 
enjoying  his  evening  smoke  in  the  open  air.  Colonel 
Thorne  was  a well  preserved  man  of  fifty,  and  in  the 
twilight  he  seemed  scarcely  older  than  his  son.  His 
figure  was  still  slender  and  debonaire ; his  hair 
slightly  sprinkled  with  grey,  though  it  had  grown  thin 
on  the  temples,  and  across  the  broad  brow.  His  face 
was  that  of  an  intellectual  gladiator ; clearly  cut  and 
strongly  marked  features,  with  deep  self-scintillating 
eyes,  an  aqualine  nose,  and  a mocking,  sarcastic  mouth 
made  up  the  ensemble  which  rendered  the  eminent 
lawyer  a terror  to  his  antagonists  in  the  arena  in  which 
their  forensic  battles  are  waged. 

He  rarely  lost  a cause,  and  he  boasted  that  he  car- 
ried more  law  in  his  brains  than  other  men  found  in 
extensive  libraries.  To  the  tenacity  of  the  man  as 
much  as  to  his  ability,  had  his  success  in  life  been 
due ; for  it  was  his  chief  characteristic  that  what  he 
had  once  determined  to  accomplish  should  be  achieved 
at  any  cost.  But  once  had  he  been  baffled,  but  he 


336  thi5  claistdestine  marriage. 

had  not  given  up  the  contest.  Ada  Digby  had  lefused 
CO  become  his  wife,  but  she  should  yet  be  mastered  by 
liis  indomitable  perseverance,  and  accept  the  fate  she 
had  disdained  in  the  heyday  of  her  youth  and  beauty. 
This  conviction  was  strengthened  when  Mrs.  Hinton, 
her  friend,  died  the  previous  year,  and  left  her  with- 
out companionship  ; and  as  he  saw  Miss  Digby’s  well-' 
known  figure  ascending  the  winding  walk  toward  the 
house  she  had  so  long  refused  to  enter,  Col.  Thorne  ut- 
tered a ''  )w  mocking  laugh,  and  whispered  to  himself  : 

‘‘At  last!'' 

He  threw  away  his  cigar,  arose  from  his  seat,  and 
mth  a grace  of  manner  he  could  assume  at  will,  moved 
forward  to  receive  his  guest.  He  cordially  said : 

“ My  dear  Ada,  I am  sure  that  my  lucky  star  must 
be  in  the  ascendant  this  evening.  I have  been  dream- 
ing here  in  this  lovely  twilight  of  the  happy  change  in 
my  destiny  your  presence  in  this  house  would  make, 
and  lo  ! the  goddess  of  my  thoughts  comes  visibly  be- 
fore me,  making  my  visions  real.” 

He  took  her  hand,  which  she  did  not  refuse  to 
him,  for  she  remembered  that  she  had  come  there 
to  conciliate  this  fair-spoken  tiger,  who  knew  how  to 
veil  his  ruthless  claws  under  velvet  softness  when  he 
had  a point  to  gain.  But  when  he  would  have  led  her 
into  the  house,  she  quietly  said : 

“ I have  a few  words  to  say  to  you.  Col.  Thorne, 
wdiich  can  be  better  said  here  than  elsewhere.  I will 
sit  here,  if  you  please.” 

He  drew  forward  a chair,  as  he  said : 

“ If  you  prefer  it,  of  course  I must  yield  ; but  when 
I saw  you  coming,  I indulged  the  hope  that  you 
would  at  last  enter  once  more  the  home  that  was  once 


COLONEL  THORNE’S  SECRET. 


337 


yours — that  I am  only  too  anxious  to  restore  you  to  as 
its  legitimate  mistress.’' 

With  chilling,  and  stately  courtesy,  she  replied  : 

I considered  that  question  as  finally  settled  long 
ago.  I did  not  come  hither  to  listen  to  speeches  that 
mean  nothing,  Coh  Thorne,  but  to  prefer  a petition  of 
my  own.” 

Can  I refuse  anything  you  may  ask,  my  fair 
cousin  ? ” was  the  reply  uttered  in  his  most  suave 
tones.  I shall  be  only  too  happy  to  concede  any- 
thing to  you  that  you  can  demand,  provided  your  re- 
quest concerns  yourself  dXoiiQy 

Why  limit  it  in  such  a manner?  ” she  impatiently 
asked.  You  well  know  that  your  words  are  equiva- 
lent to  a refusal,  for  I am  not  likely  to  ask  anything 
£i-oni  you  for  myself.” 

And  why  not,  Ada?  No  one  would  so  gladly  serve 
you  as  I.  Through  all  these  years  of  lonely  turmoil 
I have  steadily  looked  forward  to  the  day  in  which  I 
should  retire  to  the  otium  cum  dignitate  of  my  own  es  > 
tate,  with  the  only  companion  who  could  make  retire- 
ment from  active  life  tolerable  to  me.  Perseverance 
should  win  its  reward,  and  mine  surely  deserves  suc- 
cess.” 

“ Do  you  think  so.  Col.  Thorne  ? In  this  case,  at 
least,  I think  it  merits  something  far  less  agreeable. 
We  will  not  discuss  the  past,  if  you  please,  nor  refer 
to  myself  in  any  way.  I come  hither  as  the  ambassa- 
dor of  your  son  ; as  the  mediator  for  the  unhappy 
child  who  is  now  l3dng  in  my  house  almost  at  death’s 
door,  brought  there  b^^  your  cruelty.  Nothing  less 
than  a matter  of  life  and  death  could  have  brought  me 
as  a petitioner  to  your  presence.” 


338  the  clandestine  marriage. 


The  deep-set  eyes  emitted  a single  flash,  but  it  was 
ominous  of  what  was  to  follow,  though  he  spoke  as 
softly  as  before. 

“ I regret  that  you  should  have  undertaken  to  inter- 
fere in  my  family  affairs,  Ada.  I am  accustomed  to 
manage  them  without  advice  from  others  ; and  so  far 
as  Walter  is  concerned,  his  fate  has  long  been  settled. 
He  was  well  aware  of  that  fact,  and  he  should  never 
have  entangled  that  pretty  creature  in  the  web  of  de- 
ception which  has  produced  such  disagreeable  results. 
If  you  hope  to  induce  me  to  accept  that  obscure  young 
person  as  my  daughter,  I shall  be  reduced  to  the  pain- 
ful necessity  of  intimating  that  such  a thing  is  not 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility,  except  on — one — con- 
dition.” 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  peculiar  emphasis, 
and  with  a distinct  pause  between  each  one,  while  his 
glowing  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 

ITH  a slight  eagerness.  Miss  Digby  replied  to 


T T Col.  Thorne’s  suggestion,  as  made  at  the  close 
of  the  last  chapter  : 

Then  there  is  a chance  for  these  unhappy  young 
people.  I do  not  offer  any  apology  for  this  appeal, 
though  you  seem  to  consider  one  necessary.  I feel 
that  I am  simply  doing  my  duty  by  two  helpless 
creatures  who  are  entirely  in  your  power.  What  con- 


A STKANGE  PKOPOSAL. 


339 


cession  can  they  make  which  will  soften  you  in  their 
favor  ? ” 

‘‘  The  concession  will  not  be  demanded  of  them^ 
Ada.” 

Miss  Digby  lifted  her  face  to  his,  for  he  was  still 
standing  in  front  of  her,  and  she  shivered  slightly  as 
she  caught  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  Less  firmly 
than  she- had  hitherto  spoken,  she  asked  : 

‘‘  From  whom,  then,  can  it  be  required  ? ” 

‘‘  From  you.  Since  you  have  taken  it  upon  yourself 
to  mediate  between  myself  and  my  disobedient  son,  I 
am  free  to  name  my  own  terms.  I did  not  believe 
that  anything  could  induce  me  to  give  up  the  marriage 
I have  settled  for  Walter,  but  I will  even  do  that,  and 
permit  him  to  bring  hither  that  verdant  young  girl  as 
his  wife,  if  you  will  consent  also  to  come  to  Thorn- 
hill as  mine.” 

At  these  words.  Miss  Digby  arose  from  her  seat,  and 
haughtily  said : 

‘‘You  have  no  right  to  exact  from  me  the  price  of 
your  son’s  happiness  and  respectability.  It  is  one  I 
shall  not  pay,  as  you  knew  before  you  made  the  pro- 
posal. In  yielding  my  assent,  I should  sacrifice  my 
own  self-respect,  as  much  as  Walter  will  lose  his,  in 
being  forced  to  give  up  the  being  he  has  solemnly 
promised  before  Heaven  to  love,  and  cherish.  I did 
hope,  Col.  Thorne,  that  I could  influence  you  to  act 
rightly,  for  right’s  sake  ; since  I was  mistaken,  I have 
no  further  business  here,  and  I will  bid  you  good 
evening.” 

He  laid  a detaining  hand  upon  her  arm. 

“You  will  not  go  quite  yet,  Ada.  Since  we  are  at 
last  alone  together,  xuay  indulge  me  with  a few  more 
moments.  Let  us  have  this  matter  out.” 


B40  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 

She  sank  back  on  her  seat,  coldly  replying ; 

‘‘  As  you  will,  I shall  be  glad  to  put  an  end  to  the 
absurd  persecution  I have  so  long  borne  from  you.” 

‘‘There  is  but  one  thing  that  will  end  it,”  he  said 
with  provoking  calmness,  “ and  that  is  your  union  with 
myself,  or  another.  Do  you  know  that  your  ideal 
of  constancy  to  a man  who  has  a wife  and  children  of 
his  own,  is  even  more  absurd  to  me,  than  my  owm  per- 
skitent  pursuit  of  you  is  in  jonr  eyes.  I did  j^ou  a 
wrong  once,  but  it  was  because  I loved  you,  and  I 
thought  myself  better  suited  to  a woman  of  your  sense 
than  Balfour  was.  .1  believed  that  I could  atone  to 
you  for  bringing  about  a separation  between  you,  but 
you  are  as  umeasonable  as  the  most  commonplace  of 
your  sex,  and  you  persistently  shut  your  eyes  to  the 
advantages  of  becoming  the  wife  of  the  man  with  such 
endowments  of  mind  and  fortune  as  I possess.  You 
curl  your  lip  at  my  vanity,  I perceive,  but  that  is  not 
the  name  for  it.  It  is  self-appreciation,  and  who  has  a 
better  right  to  it  than  I ? I have  won  high  profes- 
sional success : my  political  Career  has  been  brilliant, 
for  I have  served  with  distinction  in  Congress.  I shall 
cei  tainly  be  the  next  Governor  of  my  State,  and  it  is 
my  most  earnest  wish  to  see  you  doing  the  honors  of 
my  home  when  I attain  my  new  dignity. 

“ Reflect  how  much  better  suited  to  such  a woman 
as  you  are,  is  the  distinguished  future  I offer  you,  than 
the  obscure  life  you  live  down  yonder  ; passing  j^our 
days  in  concocting  messes  for  those  who  are  too  poor 
to  employ  a regular  phj^sician.  Before  Heaven  ! it  is 
a shame  that  so  rarely  endowed  a creature  as  you 
should  be  content  to  bury  3^ourself  in  the  dull  round 
of  daily  duties  as  you  do.  Others  may  think  such 


A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 

self-abnegation  very  fine,  but  to  me,  it  is  the  supremest 
folly  that  ever  a human  being  was  guilty  of.” 

Miss  Digby  listened  to  this  long  tirade  with  perfect 
calmness,  and  at  its  close  steadily  said  : 

‘‘Not  such  folly  as  marrying  a man  who  has  for- 
feited my  respect,  would  be.  Neither  your  wealth, 
nor  your,  greatness.  Col.  Thorne,  can  weigh  with  me 
against  the  memory  of  that  deadly  treachery  which 
took  all  the  gladness  out  of  my  life,  and,  for  a season, 
made  me  unjust  to  him  who  was  as  deeply  wronged  as 
myself.  Don’t  misunderstand  me  ; my  refusal  to  lis- 
ten to  your  proposals  does  not  spring  from  the  love  I 
once  bore  poor  George.  That  died  out  when  I be- 
lieved myself  deserted  by  him,  and  it  is  not  likely  that 
the  knowledge  of  what  you  have  done  to  separate  us, 
would  relume  it,  When  I knew  him  to  be  the  husband 
of  another  woman.  I cherish  now,  onlj^  a tender 
friendship  for  my  former  lover,  but  to  you  will  never 
be  given  the  lees  of  such  love  as  I may  still  be  capable 
of  feeling.  I wish  earnestly  that  you  could  be  made 
to  understand  this,  and  cease  annoying  me  with  prof- 
fers of  affection  that  are  odious  to  me.” 

His  eyes  twinkled  maliciously,  and  he  said  : 

“Time  is  going  with  us,  Ada.  We  are  neither  of 
us  so  young  as  we  once  were,  though  I am  many  years 
farther  on  in  the  three  score  and  ten  allotted  to  us 
than  3^ou  are.  In  women  of  your  intellect,  the  age  of 
ambition  dawns  when  that  of  romance  is  past.  You 
must,  sooner  or  later,  find  the  bounds  of  j^our  present 
life  too  narrow  for  you.  When  that  time  arrives,  and 
it  cannot  be  veiy  far  off,  you  will  take  the  hand  that 
is  stretched  forth  to  draw  you  from  the  insignificant 
nothings  with  which  you  seek  to  occupy  j^ourself.  1 


842  THE  CLANDESTINE  MAERIAGE. 


am  waiting — I can  afford  to  wait,  for  my  reward  will 
come.” 

There  was  such  calm  assurance  in  his  tones  that  she 
was  vexed,  and  curtly  replied  : 

Wait  on  then  ; if  you  choose  to  deceive  yourself  in 
so  absurd  a manner,  I cannot  help  it,  but  from  me  you 
will  gain  nothing.” 

‘‘  Ah,  bah  ! don’t  get  excited.  I am  a man  of  strong 
passions,  but  I don’t  flare  up  without  good  cause.  I 
^hall  wait,  and  my  will  shall  conquer  yours  yet.  Don’t 
you  think  now,  that  it  may  be  as  well  for  you  to  yield 
the  consent  I am  sure  I shall  ultimately  win,  and 
purchase  with  it  the  happiness  of  these  two  young 
fools  ? You  seem  deeply  interested  in  the  girl,  and 
you  have  always  been  kind  to  Walter.  I leave  their 
fate  in  your  hands.  I will  forgive  him,  and  accept 
Mrs.  Thorne,  Junior,  if  you  will  consent  to  become  Mrs. 
Thorne,  Senior,  before  another  week  goes  over  your 
head.” 

‘‘  Will  nothing  else  move  you  in  their  favor?  ” 

‘‘Nothing,  for  you  I will  give  up  Agnes,  though  I 
know  how  tenderly  she  is  attached  to  my  ungrateful 
son  ; but  for  nothing  less  will  I make  the  sacrifice  you 
ask.” 

“ Then  my  mission  is  hopeless,  for  I can  never  be- 
come your  wife.  It  is  a strange  think  to  ask  of  me ; 
but  you  are  a singular  man.  If  Agnes  Willard  loves 
Walter,  the  greater  will  be  her  unhappiness  in  the 
union  you  will  force  on  him,  for  he  will  never  be  kind 
to  the  woman  for  whom  he  is  compelled  to  give  up  the 
choice  of  his  own  heart.  It  is  wrong,  it  is  cruel  to  act 
to  win  d l iim  as  3^011  are  doing.  You  have  made  him  de- 
pendent on  yourself;  you  have  given  him  no  profession 


A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 


343 


by  which  he  could  earn  a living  ; and  now,  with  a hand 
of  iron,  you  crush  him  into  a subjection  that  is  dis- 
honorable ; jmu  dictate  to  him  a course  which  must 
destroy  both  happiness  and  respectability.  I bid  you 
pause,  and  with  your  usual  acumen,  judge  of  the  results 
likely  to  follow  to  him.” 

You  plead  well,  Ada,  but  Walter  is  scarcely  worth 
the  trouble  you  take.  He  is  his  mother’s  son,  full  of 
fancies  and  nonsense,  and  he  never  knows  two  months 
at  a time  what  he  really  wishes.  It  was  not  my  fault 
that  he  had  no  profession.  I tried  to  make  of  him  a 
lawyer,  but  his  confounded  artistic  tastes  disgusted 
him  with  study  ; and  the  pretty  meaningless  things  he 
daubs  on  canvass  will  never  give  him  either  fame  or 
money.  I let  him  alone,  because  I could  do  no  better. 
He  will  have  enough  to  enable  him  to  indulge  his 
fancies,  without  drudging,  as  I have  done  to  gain  it ; 
that  is,  if  he  does  my  bidding.  I selected  Agnes  Wil- 
lard for  his  wife  because  she  has  sense  and  spirit ; she 
will  make  him  of  some  account ; but  the  pretty  doll  he 
has  lost  his  head  about  has  nothing  to  recommend  her. 
The  father  was  a poverty-stricken  Frenchman,  and  she 
is  in  no  respect  a suitable  match  for  him.  If  I yielded 
to  your  wishes,  and  permitted  Walter  to  bring  her 
hither  as  his  wife,  in  six  months  he  would  be  sick  of  his 
bargain  and  be  ready  to  curse  his  own  folly.  I know 
him  better  than  you  do,  and  I tell  you  there  is  no 
stamina  in  him.  Nature  has  gifted  him  with  fine  ar- 
tistic tastes  and  gentlemanly  instincts,  but  she  has  de- 
nied him  genius.  His  productions  always  lack  that  in- 
describable something  which  strikes  a chord  in  the 
common  heart  of  humanity,  and  makes  a man  famous 
for  all  time.  He  has  neither  brains  nor  persevera7ice 


344  the  clandestine  makriage. 

to  accomplish  much  for  himself  and  he  should  bless  the 
fate  that  gave  him  a rich  father.  If,  like  Esau,  he 
throws  away  his  birthright,  it  will  be  so  much  worse 
for  him.” 

‘‘Then  you  would  really  and  truly  cast  him  off? 
He  is  your  only  child ; there  is  no  one  else  to  whom 
your  hard-earned  wealth  can  descend.” 

“I  shall  take  care  of  that,”  he  quickly  replied. 
“ The  day  Walter  defies  me  I will  make  my  will  be- 
queathing every  cent  I possess  to  the  girl  he  treated 
so  badly.  For  years  he  has  made  Agnes  believe  that 
she  is  to  be  his  future  wife,  and  for  a passing  fancy  he 
has  thrown  her  by  as  a worthless  flower.  He  even  had 
the  daring  to  bring  the  rival  he  has  given  her  beneath 
my  very  roof,  in  the  mad  hope  that  her  beauty  would 
fascinate  me  as  it  did  himself,  and  induce  me  to  forgive 
them.  She  merited  no  better  treatment  at  my  hands 
than  she  received,  although  I did  order  him  to  remove 
her  from  my  house  at  once.” 

“ Are  you  aware  that  this  unfortunate  girl  believed 
that  she  was  coming  hither  as  your  son’s  wife  with  your 
full  consent,”  coldly  inquired  Miss  Higby. 

“ So  she  may  have  asserted  to  you,  but  it  is  untrue, 
as  many  other  statements  she  makes  about  herself  un- 
doubtedly are.  A girl  who  would  run  off  with  a 
strange  young  man  cannot  be  trusted  in  anything  she 
says  or  does.” 

“ This  one  can,  I am  sure.  I am  no  mean  judge  of 
character,  and  the  pride  of  this  young  girl  is  so  great, 
that  she  would  never  have  given  herself  to  Walter 
without  the  assurance  under  your  own  hand,  as  she 
believed,  that  your  anxiety  to  see  your  son  married 
was  so  great  that  you  were  willing  to  accept  a portion- 
less bride  for  him.” 


k STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 


345 


Then  she  must  be  a very  credulous  person,  or 
Walter’s  powers  of  persuasion  are  greater  than  I sup- 
posed.” 

‘‘  She  very  naturally  believed  the  evidence  of  her  own 
eyes,”  replied  Miss  Digby  drily.  A letter  purport- 
ing to  have  been  written  hj  you,  was  shown  to  herself 
friends,  in  which  you  expressed  your  approbation 
c i the  marriage.  The  lady  who  had  adopted  Claire 
reiused  her  consent  on  account  of  her  protegee’s  ex- 
treme youth,  and  she  eloped  with  Walter.” 

‘‘So  the  young  villain  has  added  forgery  to  other 
accomplishments,  for  I never  wrote  such  a letter  in  my 
life.” 

“ So  Claire  believes  now ; and  that,  I think,  struck 
as  deadly  a blow  at  her  heart  as  the  inhuman  treat- 
ment she  met  at  your  hands.” 

“ You  are  not  complimentary.  Miss  Digby,”  he  said, 
with  a curt  laugh,  “ but  I forgive  you.  Knowing  that, 
1 am  surprised  that  your  fair  patient  should  be  willing 
to  trust  such  a man  as  Walter  again.  Hard  as  she  may 
think  it  now,  she  will  be  better  off  without  him  as  he 
without  her.  Since  I had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
manufacture  of  that  letter,  I can  scarcely  be  held  re- 
sponsible for  what  resulted  from  its  false  contents.” 

Miss  Digby  looked  at  him  in  the  fading  twilight, 
and  rightly  interpreted  the  expression  of  hard  mockery 
that  rested  on  his  face  ; she  arose  and  said  : 

“My  intercession  is  vain,  I find;  so  I will  return  to 
the  unhappy  creatures  who  await  me ; one  of  them  in 
trembling  suspense,  the  other  too  ill  to  know  of  my 
errand  hither,  or  to  be  shocked  anew  by  its  failure.” 

A flash  of  keen  anger  came  from  the  eyes  of  CoL 
Thorne,  as  he  furiously  cried  out : 


346  the  clandestine  marriage. 


What  is  that  you  say  ? Has  Walter  dared  to  turn 
back  upon  his  path,  and  seek  the  presence  of  that  girl 
again,  when  I sent  him  to  make  his  peace  with  the 
other  ? ” 

His  visitor  calmly  regarded  him  as  she  said : 

Keep  your  anger  within  bounds,  for  little  harm  will 
be  done.  Walter’s  deserted  wife  is  insensible  to  his 
presence,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  she  will  ever  arise  from 
her  sick  bed  again.  He  came  to  bid  her  a last  fare- 
well ; and  moved  by  his  anguish  I offered  to  mediate 
with  you.  My  errand  has  been  fruitless,  and  I will 
return  to  send  Walter  on  the  dishonorable  path  you 
have  marked  out  for  him.  He  is  too  much  afraid  of 
poverty  to  risk  sharing  it  with  the  one  he  loves  best, 
so  you  need  have  no  fears  as  to  his  choice  of  action.” 

With  an  air  of  superb  disdain  Miss  Digby  swept  past 
him  and  descended  the  steps.  Col.  Thorne  called  out 
to  her: 

“Be  sure  to  tell  him  that  you  could  have  made 
peace  between  us,  and  you  would  not.  And  you  may 
furthermore  say  to  him  that  if  he  is  not  far  on  his  way 
to  Philadelphia  before  this  time  to-morrow,  I will  draw 
up  my  will  cutting  him  off  with  a shilling,  which  is  far 
more  than  such  a scapegrace  deserves  from  me.” 

His  visitor  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  she  heard  his 
taunting  laugh  following  her  as  she  moved  with  rapid 
steps  down  the  avenue. 

But  for  the  anomalous  position  in  which  Claire 
would  be  placed  by  the  desertion  of  her  husband.  Miss 
Digby  thought  it  as  well  for  her  happiness  that  she 
was  refused  recognition  in  that  family,  for  the  Thornes 
were  not  agreeable  men  to  live  with.  From  father  to 
son,  for  generations,  they  had  lived  in  a turmoil  of 
their  own  making,  both  abroad  and  at  home. 


A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 


347 


Ada  Digby  remembered  the  wife  of  the  man  she  had 
just  left,  as  a gay  and  brilliant  girl,  when  she  herself 
was  a young  child.  Attracted  by  the  rising  fame  of 
the  young  lawyer,  Laura  Digby  had  given  him  her 
hand,  but  her  light  butterflj^  nature  found  no  congeni- 
ality in  his  hard  and  sarcastic  one,  and  the  life  they 
lived  was  one  long  attempt  at  resistance  on  her  part 
and  systematic  crushing  on  his. 

Ada  had  witnessed  the  protracted  struggle,  for  she 
was  an  orphan  left  to  the  guardianship  of  her  cousin’s 
husband,  and  her  only  home  was  Thornhill.  Before 
she  attained  her  thirtieth  year,  Mrs.  Thorne  died,  pre- 
maturely old  and  broken  down  in  spirit ; yet  this  man, 
whose  harshness  to  his  wife  Ada  had  witnessed,  soon 
made  proposals  to  her,  asserting  that  nature  had  formed 
them  for  each  other  and  he  could  make  her  happy, 
though  he  had  made  no  effort  to  render  the  mother  of 
his  son  so.  She  recoiled  from  him  then  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  nature,  and  she  now  shuddered 
when  she  recalled  the  alternative  which  had  so  lately 
been  proposed  to  her.  She  sighed  heavily  as  she  mur- 
m urcd  : 

‘‘I  have  done  all  that  I could,  and  Walter  must  ac- 
cept his  fate,  or  battle  against  fortune.  His  father  will 
do  what  he  said,  for  Col.  Thorne  never  threatened  evil 
that  he  did  not  make  his  words  good.  I am  sorry  for 
those  unfortunate  children,  but  I can  do  no  more. 
Walter  will  give  his  wife  up — nay,  he  has  virtually 
done  it  already — and,  if  she  lives,  she  must  accept 
the  dreary  fate  decreed  her.  Oh ! this  is  a weary, 
weary  world  I ” 

She  regained  her  own  door,  and  noiselessly  entering, 
laid  aside  her  hat  and  shawl  and  went  into  the  sick 


348  the  clandestine  marriage. 


rooin.  A faint  stream  of  light  from  the  lamp  in  the 
adjoining  apartment  penetrated  into  it,  and  Miss  Digby 
saw  that  Thorne  was  sitting  motionless  beside  the  bed 
with  the  tresses  that  had  been  cut  from  Claire’s  head 
pressed  to  his  lips. 

At  the  sound  of  her  light  footfall  he  started  up  and 
eagerly  regarded  her.  She  softly  said  : 

‘‘Not  here,  Walter;  no  noise  must  be  made  near 
her.  Go  into  the  next  room,  and  I will  come  to  y ou  im- 
mediately.” 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  that 
struck  to  his  heart,  but  he  silently  obeyed  her,  taking 
with  him  the  long  shining  tresses  which  he  had  so  often 
caressed  when  they  waved  and  glittered  on  the  head 
of  his  beloved. 

Miss  Digby  carefully  examined  the  condition  of  her 
patient,  and  found  that  she  still  slept  calmly,  though 
there  were  some  symptoms  of  a speedy  awakening  to 
\^hat  was  going  on  around  her. 

“ Life  will  come  back  to  her,”  she  thought,  as  she 
bent  over  the  white  face  on  which,  even  in  sleep,  lay 
an  expression  of  pain.  “Yet  what  has  life  to  offer  her 
now  ? Better,  perhaps,  it  would  be  for  her  to  die  in 
her  sinless  youth  than  to  live  to  suffer,'  to  grow  hard 
and  unforgiving,  till  the  proud  nature  so  sorely 
crushed  may  turn  and  rend  the  author  of  her  ruin. 
Who  knows  what  her  future  may  be  ? But  God  is 
good,  and  if  he  suffers  not  a sparrow  to  fall  to  the 
ground  without  notice,  he  will  surely  extend  his  loving 
and  saving  hand  over  this  unfortunate  one.” 

She  moistened  the  pale  lips,  and  then  went  out  to 
the  anxious  man  in  the  next  room  to  take  from  him 
the  faint  hope  she,  herself,  had  aroused  Thorne 


A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 


349 


turned  eagerly  toward  her,  and  in  a suppressed  voice 
said : 

You  have  seen  him,  and — and,  he  was  inexorable. 
I read  it  in  your  manner — I see  it  in  your  face.” 

‘‘  Yes — ^your  father  was  immovable.  He  will  disin- 
herit you  if  you  refuse  implicit  obedience  to  his  com- 
mands. If  you  have  elected  to  give  up  your  wife,  you 
must  leave  her  at  once.” 

‘‘  And  was  there  no  alternative  ? Yet  why  do  I ask, 
for  he  was  plain-spoken  enough  to  myself.” 

‘‘  There  was  an  alternative  offered,  but  you  were  not 
concerned  in  the  sacrifice  demanded.” 

Thorne  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise,  and  then 
exclaimed : 

“ Did  he  ask  you  to  purchase  immunity  for  me  by 
giving  yourself  to  him,  Ada  ? And  you — well,  of 
course  you  refused,  for  what  claim  have  I on  you  ? 
But  oh  ! if  you  could ! if  you  could  do  it,  Ada,  I should 
be  the  most  grateful  and  affectionate  of  stepsons  to  the 
noble  woman  who  stepped  between  me  and  wretched- 
ness.” 

Miss  Digby  regarded  the  speaker  with  a faint  smile 
in  which  contempt  and  pain  were  blended.  She 
coldl}^  said  : 

“ You  shrink  from  suffering  the  penalty  of  your  own 
imprudence,  Walter,  and  yet  you  are  willing  to  accept 
ii  victim  in  your  place.  Such  are  my  feelings  toward 
your  father,  that  I would  sooner  lay  my  head  upon  the 
block  than  pillow  it  upon  his  breast.  Judge  then  if  I 
can  accept  the  position  of  your  mother-in-law.  You 
must  fight  your  own  battle  now,  and  decide  your  own 
fate,  for  I have  done  all  that  lay  in  my  power,  and 
ha\e  gained  nothing.” 


350  the  clandestine  marriage. 

Thorne  paced  the  floor  several  moments,  and  then 
turning  toward  her,  abruptly  said  ; 

“ You  could  have  saved  me,  and  you  would  not. 
You  prefer  this  poor  and  common-place  life  to  the 
brilliant  one  my  father  can  give  you.  Are  you  as 
mad,  Ada,  as  I was  when  I risked  his  displeasure  by 
taking  a wife  I might  have  known  he  would  refuse  to 
receive  ? Oh,  cousin,  if  you  could,  if  you  only  would 
reconsider  your  rejection  ! It  is  not  too  late,  for  my 
father  would  grasp  your  hand  over  the  widest  gulf,  if 
it  were  only  extended  to  him.  He  thinks  you  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  worthy  to  share  his  success.” 

And  I think  him  so  harsh  and  cruel  a man,  that 
nothing  could  induce  me  to  trust  myself  in  his  power. 
Go,  Walter;  your  words  prove  to  me  that  you  will 
sacrifice  the  wife  that  trusted  you,  sooner  than  relin- 
quish fortune.  She  will  live,  I now  feel  assured,  so 
your  father  may  get  the  divorce  as  soon  as  he  or  you 
may  desire.  Make  your  own  fate,  but  do  not  break  the 
heart  of  poor  Agnes  by  avenging  on  her  your  own  lack 
of  faith  to  another.” 

After  a painful  pause,  Thorne  slowly  said  : 

“ I will  go,  for  nothing  else  is  left  me  now.  But — 
but — may  I not  look  once  more  upon  her  I may  never 
see  again  ? ” 

‘‘No,  Walter  ; it  could  do  no  good  to  you,  and 
might  result  in  harm  to  Claire.  You  have  elected  to 
give  her  up,  and  you  shall  see  her  no  more  with  my 
consent.” 

He  moved  forward  as  if  he  would  enter  the  next 
room  in  spite  of  this  prohibition  ; but  apprehensive  of 
some  violence  on  his  part  which  might  result  fatally  to 
the  sick  girl,  Miss  Digby  placed  herself  in  front  of  the 
door  and  warningly  said  : 


A STRANGE  PROPOSAL. 


361 


“ Leave  this  house  without  noise,  Walter,  or  you 
may  have  a human  life  to  answer  for.  By  this  time 
my  patient  is  beginning  to  arouse  from  the  lethargy  in 
which  she  has  so  long  lain,  and  the  sight  of  yoii  would 
be  fatal  to  her.  Do  not  force  me  to  regret  having  en- 
deavored to  aid  you.  Claire  is  nothing  to  you  now, 
and  you  should  be  man  enough  to  abide  by  your  own 
decision  and  accept  the  alternative  you  have  chosen, 
without  this  weak  clinging  to  the  being  you  have 
made  up  your  mind  to  desert.” 

You  are  merciless,  Ada  ! ” 

“ No — I am  only  just.  Defy  your  father,  or  obey 
him.  Both  courses  are  open  to  you ; decide  quickly, 
for  it  is  time  for  me  to  return  to  my  charge.  You  shall 
enter  this  room  only  as  her  protector  through  every 
chance  and  change  in  life,  or  you  shall  not  again  ap- 
proach her.” 

Thorne  sank  down  upon  a chair,  seeming  utterly 
unnerved  ; after  a few  moments  of  gloomy  thought 
he  arose  and  said  : 

‘‘  You  are  right.  No  good  can  come  of  another 
sight  of  that  pale  creature  in  there.  I will  leave  her 
to  such  a peace  as  she  can  find,  but  I shall  never  for- 
get her.  I go  hence  at  my  father’s  bidding,  to  woo 
another  to  my  heart,  but  she  will  find  it  ice  to  her.  I 
shall  sell  myself  into  bondage,  but  it  will  be  a fitting 
fate  for  such  as  I am.  Good-bye,  Ada.  Take  care  of 
my  poor  deserted  darling,  and  don’t  let  her  hate  me 
too  deeply.  Above  all,  make  her  accept  the  provision 
my  father  ha.s  promised.” 

He  seizea  his  hat  and  rushed  from  the  house,  and 
Miss  Digby  saw  no  more  of  him  for  months.  She 
turned,  and  sighing  heavily,  went  into  the  darkened 


352  the  clandestine  markiage. 


room  in  which  Claire  lay.  A faint  voice  spoke  from 
the  bed : 

Who  is  that — where  am  I ? ” 

‘‘You  are  with  those  who  will  take  the  best  care  of 
you,  my  poor  child,”  was  the  gentle  response.  “ You 
have  been  very  ill,  and  you  must  not  try  to  think  at 
present.  Here  are  some  drops  which  you  must  take 
now.” 

Claire  was  too  we^k  to  object,  and  after  swallowing 
the  potion,  she  lay  back  on  her  pillows  in  that  dreamy 
state  which  is  neither  life  nor  death.  From  that  hour 
the  vital  powers  slowly  reacted,  but  her  nurse  kept 
her  under  the  influence  of  narcotics  for  many  days  af- 
terward, dreading  the  return  of  perfect  consciousness 
till  the  weakened  physical  powers  had  regained 
strength  to  struggle  with  the  wretched  memories  that 
must  arise  as  soon  as  she  was  permitted  to  do  without 
them. 

The  result  proved  that  without  such  precautions  all 
her  efforts  to  save  this  saddened  life  would  have  been 
vain,  for  when  Claire  at  last  recalled  what  had  pre- 
ceded her  illness,  she  yielded  to  such  a torrent  of 
despairing  anguish  that,  under  less  careful  treatment, 
she  must  have  died. 

As  it  was,  she  relapsed,  and  it  was  late  in  the  win- 
ter before  she  was  strong  enough  to  move  about  the 
house  or  attempt  to  occupy  her  feeble  hands  with 
any  employment. 


CLAIRES  RESOLUTION. 


368 


CHAPTER  XXIL 


Claire’s  resolution. 


ONG  before  Claire  passed  through  the  first  stage  of 


i J her  convalesence,  the  divorce  asked  by  Colonel 
Thorne  had  been  granted.  There  was  no  voice  raised 
to  state  the  wrong  that  had  been  done  to  the  helpless 
wife  of  his  son.  It  was  sufficient  for  the  packed  jury 
that  the  heir  of  a man  in  high  position,  and  great 
wealth  had  been  entraped  into  a misalliance  with  an 
unknown  and  friendless  girl ; and  the  impression  was 
furthermore  given  them  that  Walter  Thorne  was  intoxi- 
cated with  something  less  ethereal  than  love,  when  the 
informal  ceremony  of  marriage  was  performed. 

Col.  Thorne  explicitly  stated  that  he  considered  the 
union  illegal,  but  to  free  his  son  from  even  the  shadow 
of  a claim  on  the  part  of  the  young  woman  in  question, 
he  had  thought  it  best  to  seek  a dissolution  of  the  tie 
that  bound  him  to  her.  Wingate,  struck  with  remorse 
for  the  part  he  had  acted,  made  a feeble  effort  to  move 
Col.  Thorne  from  his  purpose,  but  he  was  speedily 
silenced  by  a threat  from  him  to  prosecute  him  for  the 
letter  he  had  forged  in  his  name — a fact  which  Walter 
had  been  indiscreet  enough  to  allow  to  be  drawn  from 
him  by  the  cross-questioning  of  the  astute  old  lawyer. 

From  that  moment.  Col.  Thorne  had  Wingate  in  his 
power,  and  the  only  friend  who  might  have  stood  up  in 
Claire’s  defence,  as  an  atonement  for  his  culpable  con- 
duct, was  compelled  to  consult  his  own  safety  by  allow- 
ing the  affair  to  take  its  course. 


364  the  clandestine  marhiage. 


The  result  was  communicated  to  Miss  Digby  by  a 
note  from  Col.  Thorne  containing  the  following  lines : 

“ Thornhill,  November  27th,  18 — . 

My  Dear  Ada  : — Why  did  I put  at  the  begin- 
ning of  my  address,  I wonder — it  is  the  force  of  habit, 
I suppose,  for  I will  consider  you  as  in  some  sort'  be- 
longing to  me,  though  you  so  persistently  refuse  to  rati- 
fy my  claims,  you  most  obstinate  and  self-dependent  of 
women. 

I wish  you  were  less  so,  but  then  you  would  not 
be  the  Ada  I admire  and  respect  so  highly.  You  are 
as^much  superior  to  the  rest  of  your  giddy  sex,  as  I am 
to  the  common  herd  of  men — we  are  kindred  spirits, 
though  you  will  not  see  it.  It  is  much  the  worse  for 
both  of  us. 

‘‘  I wonder  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  a part  of 
your  mission  on  earth  is  to  soften  and  humanise  me. 
If  1 had  you  ever  at  my  side  I should  be  a better  man, 
and  I scarcely  think  that  my  influence  on  you  would 
make  you  a worse  woman. 

But  I did  not  take  up  my  pen  to  write  another  offer 
of  marriage  to  you — in  fact  it  was  to  announce  to  you 
the  dissolution  of  the  one  my  son  has  so  foolishly 
contracted.  The  decree  has  been  gained  with  very  lit- 
tle difficulty,  and  Walter  is  free  to  obey  my  command 
to  give  his  hand  to  Agnes  Willard,  as  soon  as  she  is 
ready  to  bestow  it  upon  him.  I have  already  written 
to  him  to  have  the  affair  over  if  possible  before  the 
death  of  her  father. 

‘‘  Your  young  protegee  must  bear  the  fate  she  has 
Urnii^'ht  on  herself  with  such  equanimity  as  she  can 
command.  I have  only  performed  the  duty  of  a care- 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


355 


ful  father  toward  my  and  her  fate  may  be  a warn- 
ing to  other  ambitious  young  damsels  who  clandestinely 
attempt  to  win  a position  to  which  they  are  not  en- 
titled to  aspire. 

If  Miss  Lapierre  is  wise  she  will  accept  the  annuity 
I am  ready  to  settle  on  her,  and  retire  to  the  obscurity 
of  the  secluded  valley  in  which  Walter  was  so  unlucky 
as  to  find  her.  She  has  friends  there,  I believe,  and 
they  may  be  willing  to  receive  her  again,  if  she  does 
not  return  to  them  empty-handed. 

“ After  all,  lack  of  money  is  the  greatest  evil  in  life, 
and  I am  ready  to  provide  for  the  discarded  one  as 
much  of  that  as  one  reared  as  she  has  been  is  likely  to 
need.  Of  course  she  will  accept  my  bounty  when  she 
knows  that  she  is  likely  to  gain  nothing  by  refusing  it. 
You  will  know  how  to  set  the  case  clearly  before  her, 
and  to  make  her  understand  that  any  further  appeal  to 
love  or  law  will  be  useless. 

I have  the  honor  to  be  your  most  devoted  servant 
to  command, 

‘‘W.  Thorne.” 

When  Miss  Digby  received  this  note,  she  was  with 
Claire,  ^vho  had  been  permitted  to  sit  up  for  that  day 
for  the  first  time.  A bright  fire  burned  in  the  grate  ; 
and  in  front  of  it,  in  a large  cushioned  chair,  reclined 
ilie  shadow  of  the  bright  creature  who  had  won  the 
tickle  love  of  Walter  Thorne. 

Wasted,  pallid,  and  weary-looking,  her  large  bright 
eyes,  seemed  to  rest  on  vacancy,  and  she  sat  still  and 
nerveless,  except  that  the  restless  motions  of  her  thin 
fingers  displayed  the  disquiet  within.  It  was  pain- 
ful to  look  on  rhat  young  face  and  read  in  it  the  fierce 


856 


THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


struggle  through  which  Claire  had  passed — to  behold 
there  the  sad  record  of  a life  blighted  in  its  opening 
prime. 

She  wrestled  fiercely  against  the  tender  memories  of 
those  halcyon  weeks  that  she  had  believed  only  a pre- 
lude to  the  life  of  love  and  splendor  which  was  open- 
ing before  her.  Claire’s  love  for  her  deceiver  had  died 
a violent  death,  but  her  resentment  against  him  only 
deepened  and  intensified  with  every  passing  hour ; and 
to  find  the  means  of  striking  him  in  his  turn  was  now 
the  one  thought  that  had  power  to  keep  alive  the 
flame  of  life  which  had  long  burned  so  feebly. 

When  Barbara,  the  middle-aged  servant,  came  in 
with  Col.  Thorne’s  note,  Claire  glanced  wistfully  at 
it,  and  asked : 

‘‘  Are  there  no  letters  for  me  ? Have  none  arrived 
during  my  illness  ? I have  not  surely  been  permitted 
to  lie  here  so  long  without  a single  inquiry  being  made 
for  me  by — by  ^ome  oney 

Miss  Digby  looked  kindly  at  her,  and  after  a brief 
hesitation,  said  : 

There  is  a letter  for  you,  my  dear,  but  I have  not 
thought  you  strong  enough  to  bear  any  emotion. 
That  is  why  I have  withheld  it  so  long.  It  came  soon 
after  you  were  taken  ill.” 

A bright  gleam  of  color  flashed  into  the  wasted 
cheeks,  and  Claire  eagerly  exclaimed : 

Oh,  give  it  to  me  at  once,  if  you  please.  I am  so 
much  better  now  that  I feel  strong  enough  to  bear 
anything  but  the  wretched  suspense  that  is  devouring 
my  poor  heart.” 

My  child,  it  is  not  from  Am,”  said  her  friend 
gently.  “ It  is  from  your  old  home.” 


CLAIRE^S  RESOLUTION. 


367 


‘‘  So  much  the  better — it  is  from  mamma  that  I am 
most  anxious  to  hear.  The  one  who  has  brought  me 
to  this  pass  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  me  to  which  I 
would  listen  till  I find  the  means  to  oflPer  to  his  lips  as 
bitter  a cup  as  the  one  he  has  forced  me  to  drain  to 
the  dregs.  Dear  friend,  bring  me  my  letter,  and  I 
will  read  it  while  you  do  the  same  with  yours.” 

Miss  Digby  arose  and  took  from  the  bureau  drawer 
the  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Courtnay  so  many  weeks 
before.  Claire  looked  at  the  address,  shivered,  and 
then  broke  the  seal.  She  read  its  contents  without 
shedding  a single  tear,  though  she  became  even  paler 
than  before  when  she  learned  from  it  that  Father  Je- 
-'"ome  was  dead.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and 
sat  many  moments  trying  to  think  what  the  result  to 
herself  would  be  ; when  she  looked  up  again,  she  saw 
that  Miss  Digby  was  attentively  and  compassionately 
regarding  her. 

Claire  tried  to  speak  with  steadiness : 

‘‘This  is  from  mamma;  she  is  kinder  to  me  than  I 
deserve  ; but  she  communicates  to  me  a piece  of  news 
which  may  have  an  evil  influence  on  my  fate.  The 
priest  who  united  Walter  and  myself  is  dead,  and  there 
is  now  no  proof  of  our  marriage  save  the  statement 
made  by  Father  Jerome  to  Mrs.  Courtnay,  that  he 
performed  the  ceremony  on  the  night  he  was  struck 
with  his  last  illness.  I know  nothing  of  law,  but  will 
not  that  suffice  to  prove  that  I am  the  lawfully  wed- 
ded wife  of  Walter  Thorne  ? ” 

“Do  you  wish  the  tie  to  be  irrevocable,  Claire?” 
asked  Miss  Digby.  “ Would  you,  after  all  that  has 
passed,  consent  to  be  acknowledged  as  Walter’s  wife  ? ’’ 
“ Yes — to  be  acknowledged,  but  not  to  be  claimed 


358  the  clandestine  makria^ge. 

by  him.  I am  not  ready  to  win  him  back  yet,  though 
I mean  to  do  so  in  my  own  good  time.  All  I ask  now, 
is  to  jprove  to  the  world  that  my  honor  is  untainted — 
that  I am  really  his  wife.” 

Then  you  will  not  be  wounded  by  the  information 
this  note  brings  me.  Your  position  as  a wife  has  not 
been  denied.  It  was  thought  enough  of  to  be  repudia- 
ted, for  Mr.  Thorne  has  obtained  a divorce.” 

The  eyes  of  the  listener  flashed  with  something  of 
their  old  fire,  and  she  cried  out,  in  excited  tones : 

‘‘Divorced!  By  what  authority?  No  secular  tri- 
bunal has  power  to  set  aside  a marriage  that  has  re- 
ceived the  sanction  of  the  church.  Walter  became  a 
Catholic  before  he  married  me ; and  he  is  as  much 
bound  to  me  as  I am  to  him,  in  spite  of  the  decree  that 
may  have  been  given  against  my  claims  on  him.  I 
know  it  is  so.  Miss  Digby.” 

“ On  you,  Claire,  those  vows  may  be  binding ; but 
not  on  a man  who  has  evidently  entered  your  church 
only  to  enable  himself  to  consummate  his  treachery  to 
you,”  was  the  reluctant  reply. 

Claire  half  arose  from  her  chair,  and  then  sank 
down  again  helpless,  and  struggling  for  breath.  In 
hollow  tones,  she  presently  asked  : 

“ Would  he — would  Walter  dare,  with  those  fetters 
clinging  to  him,  to  act  as  though  they  do  not  exist  ? I 
cannot  believe  it  of  him,  badly  as  he  has  treated  me.” 

“ My  dear  child,  do  not  forget  that  the  sacrifice 
poor  Walter  has  made,  at  the  command  of  his  imperi- 
ous father,  would  be  valueless  to  him  unless  he  obeys 
the  will  of  Col.  Thorne  to  its  utmost  limit.  lie  gave 
you  up  to  save  his  inheritance  ; but  the  sacrifice  will 
be  incomplete  and  useless  to  him,  unless  he  gives  his 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


359 


hand  to  the  girl  to  whom  he  was  betrothed  before  he 
saw  you.” 

And  he  will  marry  her  ! Oh,  Heavens ! that  is 
impossible  ? It  will  not  be  lawful  for  him  to  claim 
another  wdfe  while  I live.  She  should  know  this. 
What  is  her  name  "t — where  is  she  to  be  found  ? — for  I 
must  .appeal  to  her  to  save  herself  from  such  a fate.” 

‘‘  My  dear  Claire,  pray  compose  yourself,  and  listen 
to  me.  I shall  not  tell  you  the  name  of  this  young 
lady,  because  it  is  now  too  late  to  interpose,  and  it  is 
doubtful  whether  she  would  listen  to  you,  or  take  the 
same  view  of  the  case  that  you  do.  She  has  for  years, 
been  passionately  in  love  with  Walter  Thorne,  and  she 
would  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  an  angel  if  it  accused 
him  of  wrong.  She  is  far  away,  and  the  knowledge 
of  what  has  lately  happened  here,  has  been  carefully 
kept  from  her.  It  is  even  possible  that  she  may  al- 
ready have  become  Mr.  Thorne’s  wife.” 

‘‘  And  I — I — what  am  I ? — betrayed,  deserted, 
throyvn  as  a worthless  weed  upon  the  tide  of  life,  to 
drift  to  destruction,  for  all  he  cares.  Yet  he  seemed 
to  love  me — aye,  to  worship  the  very  ground  I walked 
on.  Oh  ! Miss  Digby,  it  is  well  for  you  that  you  have 
not  trusted  your  life  to  the  treacherous  hands  of  any 
man.  Henceforth  I live  but  for  one  object.  Feeble 
girl  that  I am,  I will  yet  seek  and  find  the  means  of 
returning  to  him  the  anguish  and  bitterness  which 
have  broken  my  life  and  buried  beneath  the  wreck 
every  merciful  or  tender  feeling.  I shall  find  my  re- 
venge yet,  be  sure  of  that.” 

Claire  seemed  wild  with  excitement,  and  her  friend 
was  both  shocked  and  alarmed  at  her  words  and  ap- 
pearance. She  bitterly  regretted  her  own  imprudence 


860  the  clandestine  marriage. 


in  speaking  so  freely  to  her  in  her  weak  condition ; 
but  she  had  thought  it  best  for  the  unhappy  girl  to  be 
aroused  from  the  apathy  into  which  she  was  falling,  by 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  however  bitter  it  might  be. 

She  took  the  thin  hands  of  the  invalid  in  her  own 
and  solemnly  said : 

‘‘  ‘ Vengeance  is  mine,’  saith  the  great  ruler  of  fate. 
Remember  those  awful  words,  Claire,  and  do  not  seek 
to  take  its  burden  upon  yourself.  You  are  but  a child 
in  years ; you  are  freed  from  the  false  man  who  gave 
you  up  sooner  than  lose  the  wealth  he  so  highly 
prizes.  Let  him  go  upon  his  way,  and  seek  not  to 
cross  his  path  again.  A useful  and  contented  future 
may  be  yours,  even  if  you  may  not  consider  yourself 
at  liberty  to  choose  another  as  the  companion  of  your 
life.” 

She  shuddered,  and  hastily  said  : 

I could  not  do  that,  even  if  I believed  it  no  sin. 
No — Walter  Thorne  is  mine  and  I am  his;  and  the 
day  shall  come  in  which  he  shall  gladly  take  me  back, 
r will  yet  enter  that  house,  from  which  I was  so  igno- 
miniously  expelled  ; and,  as  its  mistress,  become  the 
spirit  of  evil  to  him  who  will  then  be  its  master.  You 
shall  see — you  shall  see,  if  you  live  so  long.” 

Miss  Digby  gravely  said  : 

You  are  too  much  excited  now  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  your  wild  words,  Claire.  Such  a thing  as 
you  hint  at  is  impossible,  you  will  find  too  many  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  its  accomplishment.  You  must 
turn  yourself  into  a demon  to  carry  out  your  evil 
threats.  ” 

“ I am  only  what  that  false  man  has  made  me,”  she 
panted.  I can  wait,  for  my  hour  will  surely  come 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


361 


I feel  that  it  will ; aud  then,  woe  to  him  who  has  so 
ruthlessly  wronged  me.” 

She  sank  back  half  fainting,  and  Miss  Digby  hasten- 
ed to  offer  her  a composing  draught,  which,  with  some 
difficulty,  she  was  induced  to  accept.  Claire  lay  back 
in  her  chair,  and  after  a long  silence,  said  : 

What  is  to  become  of  me  if  mamma  refuses  to  for- 
give me,  and  receive  me  again  ? I was  mad  just  now. 
Miss  Digby ; pray  forgive  my  hot  words  and  try  to 
forget  them.  I have  been  a great  trouble  to  you,  and 
I cannot  see  how  I am  ever  to  repay  you,  or  rid  j^ou  of 
the  burden  you  have  so  kindly  assumed.  I must  begin 
to  think  of  some  plan  of  life  for  myself,  if  Mrs.  Court- 
nay  should  cast  me  off  as  my  husband  has  done.  I am 
her  god-child  and  she  may  consider  it  her  duty  to  pro- 
tect me,  but  I have  really  no  claim  upon  her  after 
eloping  from  her  roof  as  I did.  She  will  be  quite  jus- 
tified in  refusing  to  receive  me  beneath  it  again.” 

Miss  Digby  took  her  hand,  and  tenderly  caressing 
it,  said  : 

‘‘You  are  quite  welcome  to  remain  with  me  as  long 
as  you  choose,  my  dear.  You  are  no  burden  to  me,  I 
assure  you,  and  I would  cheerfully  do  more  for  you 
than  I have  been  called  on  to  do.  I am  alone  in  the 
vrorld,  with  sufficient  fortune  to  render  me  perfectly 
independent,  and  it  is  my  chief  pleasure  to  assist  the 
unfortunate.  You  will  not  be  left  unprovided  for,  and 
what  is  offered  you  by  those  who  have  so  badlj^  treated 
you,  is  justly  yours.  I have  been  anxious  to  tell  you 
that  Walter  was  not  so  base  as  to  leave  you  without  a 
sufficient  support.  Col.  Thorne  will  settle  on  you  an 
annuitj",  which  will  enable  you  to  live.” 

The  white  lips  of  Claire  unc'osed  to  ask,  with  pas 
sionate  emphasis: 


B62  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Do  they  think  that  I will  be  trodden  in  the  dust^ 
and  then  accept  gold  from  them  as  a panacea  for  the 
heart  they  have  broken — for  the  pride  they  have  so 
bitterly  humiliated  ? No ; if  mamma  refuses  to  take 
me  back,  I will  labor  for  my  bread  sooner  than  de- 
grade myself  by  accpting  the  alms  they  offer.” 

But,  Claire,  this  provision  is  legally  yours.  The 
law  does  not  grant  a divorce,  without  setting  aside  an 
allowance  for  the  repudiated  wife.” 

‘‘  It  may  be  so,  but  I would  sooner  die  of  want  than 
accept  the  naeans  of  living  from  them.  I have  one 
other  resource  that  I had  almost  forgotten.  I have  a 
half-brother  in  France,  who,  I believe  is  rich.  My  fa- 
ther thought  that  Armand  treated  him  badly,  but,  at 
the  last,  he  was  not  unwilling  that  I should  make  an 
appeal  to  him  if  I found  it  necessary.  Mrs.  Courtnay 
goes  to  Europe  in  the  spring,  and  she  will  hardly  re- 
fuse to  let  me  be  the  companion  of  her  voyage.  I will 
throw  myself  on  my  brother’s  compassion,  and  afford 
him  the  chance  to  atone  to  me  for  the  neglect  with 
which  he  treated  poor  papa.” 

‘‘  But  suppose  M.  Lapierre  should  refuse  to  receive 
you  ? An  ungrateful  son  is  not  apt  to  make  an  affec- 
tionate brother.” 

“ That  may  be ; but  I have  the  impression  that  the 
fault  of  the  estrangement  was  not  entirely  with  Ar- 
mand. I will  afford  him  the  opportunity  to  justify 
himself  at  all  events.  I think  I should  like  to  live  in 
France  for  the  next  five  years.  I could  acquire  accom- 
plishments, and  gain  that  grace,  and  distinction  of 
manner  which  is  even  more  attractive  than  beauty.’* 

‘‘  And  when  that  is  attained,  Claire,  what  is  to  fol- 
low?” asked  Miss  Digby,  gravely. 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


363 


A flash  of  bitter  sarcasm  came  over  her  face,  as  she 
replied  : 

“ Those  who  wish  to  be  good,  are  told  to  put  on  the 
whole  armor  of  righteousness.  My  armor  is  to  be  won, 
and  won  for  a different  purpose.  I intend  to  become 
bewitching,  entrancing,  bewildering — everything  that 
is  irresistible,  and  then ” 

A brilliant  flame  glowed  on  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
blazed  with  the  fierce  resentment  that  burned  within 
her  soul,  but  she  suddenly  sank  back,  and  burst  in  tears. 

And  then,  Claire,”  repeated  Miss  Digby,  steadily 
— What  then  ? ” 

“Dust  and  ashes — degradation  and  desolation,”  she 
faintly  murmured.  “ I dreamed  of  the  hour  in  which 
I should  return  and  win  back  the  recreant  heart  that 
lias  broken  mine  ; but  he  will  give  me  a rival,  and 
unless  death  kindly  steps  in  and  removes  the  new  wife 
he  has  taken  to  his  false  heart,  I should  even  then  have 
no  chances  of  success.” 

“My  dear  child,  you  must  lay  aside  such  sinful 
fancies,  or  they  will  blight  all  that  is  sweet,  and  noble 
in  your  nature.  Go  to  France  if  you  wish  it,  seek  a 
re-union  with  the  brother  who  is  your  natural  pro- 
tector ; acquire  accomplishments,  and  grace,  but  dedi- 
cate them  to  a better  purpose  than  the  one  you  spoke 
of  just  now.  AV alter  has  proved  to  you  that  he  is  not 
worthy  to  be  regained ; leave  him  out  of  your  future 
[)lans  altogether  and  try  to  forget  him.  In  doing  so, 
lies  your  only  chance  of  happiness.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  replied  Claire,  listlessly.  Then  sud- 
denly raising  her  dark  eyes  to  the  face  of  her  com- 
panion, she  imploringly  asked : 

“Will  you  tell  me  one  thing.  Miss  Digby?  Did 


364  the  clandestine  marriage. 


W alter  leave  me  without  seeking  to  see  me  again  ? 
Was  he  so  hard  of  heart  that  he  never  once  came  near 
me  while  I lay  so  ill  ? If  he  had  ever  really  loved  me 
— if  I had  been  more  to  him  than  a mere  toy,  to  be  cast 
aside  when  he  ceased  to  care  for  it — he  must  have 
done  so ; yet  I have  no  recollection  of  seeing  him  near 
me  while  I had  the  power  to  recognize  him.” 

Miss  Digby  had  heretofore  believed  it  best  to  with- 
hold from  Claire  the  knowledge  of  that  last  visit,  and 
what  resulted  from  it ; as  no  good,  she  thought,  could 
come  from  letting  her  know  how  bitter  the  struggle 
between  love  and  self-love,  had  been  in  the  heart  of 
her  faithless  husband.  But  now  a straight-forward 
question  was  asked,  and  she  could  not  refuse  to  reply. 
She  reluctantly  replied ; 

When  all  was  settled  between  himself  and  his 
father  Walter  come  hither  to  bid  you  a last  adieu.  You 
were  in  that  long  sleep  in  which  you  passed  through 
the  crisis  of  your  fever,  and  I permitted  him  to  enter 
your  room,  and  take  a last  look  at  your  face.” 

Claire  listened  breathlessly,  and  rapidly  asked  : 

Was — was  he  much  moved  when  he  saw  the  con- 
dition to  which  his  treachery  had  reduced  me  ? ” 

Miss  Digby  coldly  replied  : 

Walter  is  a man  who  always  acts  from  impulse,  as 
you  well  know.  Had  you  been  in  a condition  to  re- 
cognize him,  I do  not  know  what  the  result  might  have 
been,  for  he  was  very  remorseful.  But,  Claire,  even 
then,  his  penitence  did  not  render  him  unmindful  of 
his  own  interests.  He  had  the  choice  open  to  him  to 
surrender  his  birthright,  and  cleave  to  you,  but  he 
preferred  obeying  his  father’s  commands,  though  in 
doing  so  he  knew  that  he  was  setting  the  seal  to  the 


CLAIKE’S  RESOLUTION. 


365 


wretchedness  of  three  persons.  He  went  away  to  claim 
a new  wife,  whom  he  will  never  try  to  make  happy.” 

Claire  broke  in,  in  an  excited  manner : 

If  you  believe  that,  it  is  your  duty  to  warn  her  of 
what  is  before  her.  I entreat  that  you  will  tell  me  the 
name  of  this  young  lad}^  She  should  be  informed  of 
his  bad  faith  to  herself,  as  well  as  his  repudiation  of 
me.  It  is  simple  justice  to  her  not  to  permit  her  to 
rush  into  a union  with  him,  since  you  believe  he  will 
not  render  her  happy.” 

The  friend  shook  her  head,  and  decisively  replied  : 

‘‘  The  Avarning  would  produce  no  result.  The 
young  lady  I refer  to  is  so  deeply  infatuated  with 
Walter  Thorne  that  she  would  turn  a deaf  ear  to  all 
that  could  be  urged  against  him.  Even  if  she  should 
become  aware  of  Avhat  has  taken  place  here,  she  would 
listen  to  his  explanations,  and  be  won  by  his  eloquent 
tongue  to  forgive  his  infidelitj^,  and  act  as  if  she  had 
forgotten  it.” 

Claire  sighed  wearily,  and  after  a pause  said : 

‘‘  We  will  not  talk  any  more  on  this  subject  now,  if 
you  please,  Miss  Digby.  I must  hot  excite  myself, 
and  retard  my  recovery,  for  I must  get  well  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  go  back  to  mamma.  I shall  answer  her 
letter  in  person,  and  appeal  to  her  for  the  protection  a 
letter  might  fail  to  gain  for  me.  She  is  the  only  per- 
son in  this  country  from  whom  I am  willing  to  gain 
assistance,  though  I can  never  be  grateful  enough  for 
the  kindness  you  lavished  on  me  when  I so  dreadfully 
needed  it.” 

“ Speak  no  more  of  that,  Claire  ; I wish  to  claim 
affection  from  you,  not  gratitude  alone.  My  life  is 
very  solitary,  and  if  you  could  be  contented  to  give  up 


B66  the  clandestine  marriage. 


j^our  early  friends,  and  remain  with  me  as  the  child  ol 
my  adoption,  I should  be  very  glad.  I could  afford 
you  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  the  accomplishments 
you  desire  ; nay,  I could  assist  you  myself,  for  my  ed- 
ucation has  been  very  thorough,  and  I am  a fair  musi- 
cian. You  seem  to  me  a waif  sent  expressly  to  my 
arms,  that  I may  rescue  you  from  the  rough  paths  of 
life,  show  you  the  safe  and  narrow  one  on  which  you 
should  walk,  and  teach  you  resignation  to  the  will  ol 
Providence.” 

Tears  sprang  into  the  eyes  of  Claire  as  she  listened 
to  these  kind  words.  For  one.  moment  she  was  tempted 
to  throw  herself  in  Miss  Digby’s  arms,  and  thankfully 
receive  the  sheltered  home  she  offered  her.  She 
bowed  her  head  and  wept  bitterly,  but  she  presently 
faltered  : 

My  heart  is  full  of  love  and  thanks,  but  I can  not, 
I cannot  accept  you  kindness.  I must  go ; I could 
never  raise  my  head  among  these  people  to  whom  my 
painful  story  is  known.  I must  work  out  my  own  fate, 
i see  it  dimly  shadowed  before  me,  too  dark  and  lurid 
to  be  cast  with  yours.  I have  no  vocation  for  good- 
ness now,  and  I should  only  weary  your  patience,  and 
wear  out  your  forbearance.  If  I remained  here  I 
could  not  even  try  to  forget  the  past ; but  in  a strange 
land,  with  so  much  around  me  that  will  be  new  and 
interesting,  I may,  in  time,  lift  from  my  heart  the  bur- 
den that  has  so  sorely  crushed  it.” 

I regret  that  you  should  feel  thus,  my  child  ; and 
above  all,  it  pains  me  to  hear  you  say  that  you  have  no 
vocation  for  goodness.  My  dear  Claire,  no  happiness 
is  to  be  found  without  it,  especially  by  one  of  our  sex. 
Men  may  drown  their  sense  of  guilt  in  dissipation,  and 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


367 


still  retain  a foothold  in  society  ; but  to  us,  that  brings 
only  unmitigated  degradation.  Keep  your  heart  and 
life  pure,  and  all  else  will  be  well  with  you.  Ah ! if 
I could  only  watch  over  you,  and  guard  you  from  the 
evil  that  I see  is  gaining  ground  within  you,  I should 
feel  far  happier  than  to  see  you  go  out  into  the  world, 
taking  with  you  the  sense  of  wrong  that  may  yet  bring 
forth  such  bitter  fruit.  You  have  great  capacity  for 
good  or  evil  in  your  nature,  Claire,  and  the  next  few 
years  of  your  life  will  decide  which  shall  gain  the  mas- 
tery. Remain  with  me  and  cultivate  the  better  por- 
tion of  your  character ; that  is  my  advice,  though  I 
confess  it  is  dictated  by  the  selfish  wish  to  claim  you 
as  my  companion.  You  interest  me  deeply,  and  for 
my  own  sake,  as  well  as  yours,  I would  gladly  detain 
you.” 

For  a brief  space  the  unhappy  girl  wavered  in  her 
decision,  but  the  impossibility  of  living  in  the  same 
town  with  Walter  Thorne  loomed  before  her,  and  she 
tearfully  replied : ' 

I have  no  words  to  thank  you,  but  I must  go.  I 
will  never  forget  what  you  have  this  day  said  to 
me,  and  I promise  you  some  time  to  come  back.  I 
will  try  and  not  let  the  evil  promptings  of  my  nature 
destroy  all  that  is  good  within  me,  but  just  now  I am 
afraid  they  are  in  the  ascendant.  Time  may  blunt  my 
resentment,  but  the  grace  of  God  can  alone  turn  my 
heart  from  the  purpose  that  has  grown  stronger  day 
by  day.  I will  not  tell  you  what  that  is  now.  lest  you 
should  condemn  it  as  wrong  and  impracticable.  But  I 
shall  accomplish  it,  something  assures  me  that  I shall. 
I am  afraid  I am  so  wicked  that  I would  turn  away 
from  that  which  is  pure  and  good  if  I thought  it  would 


368  the  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


unfit  me  for  what  lies  before  me.  Your  kindness  is 
appreciated,  but  fate  is  strong,  and  no  human  being 
can  evade  that  which  is  written  on  its  changeless 
record.” 

‘‘  Child,  this  is  the  worst  form  of  fatalism  — it  might 
be  made  a shield  for  any  crime.  If  you  listen  to  its 
promptings  it  may  lead  you  into  an  abyss  of  wrong 
and  wretchedness  from  which  there  will  be  no  escape.” 

God  help  me  then,  for  I have  no  will  to  resist  the 
power  that  drives  me  on.  My  destiny  is  fixed,  and  I 
cannot  escape  it  if  I would.  There!  — don’t  look  so 
severely  at  me,  my  dear  friend.  If  my  tempestuous 
nature  could  tame  itself  down  to  the  quiet  life  you  so 
delight  in,  I would  make  the  effort  to  live  here ; but 
I should  only  become  a torment  to  you,  and  something 
more  than  that  to  some  of  your  neighbors.  Walter 
will  bring  his  new  wife  hither,  and  I leave  you  to 
judge  if  I could  remain  where  I could  see  and  hear 
from  them,  without  losing  my  reason.  I sometimes 
think  it  is  tottering  even  now,  and  a change  from  the 
monotony  of  my  present  life  is  all  that  can  save  it. 
Make  me  well  and  strong  as  soon  as  possible,  and  iet 
me  go  back  to  my  own  valley  to  find  there  the  friend 
who  will  take  me  far  away  from  this  land  and  all  the 
odious  memories  connected  with  it.” 

Poor  child  I Is  it  indeed  thus  with  you  ? Since 
such  are  your  feelings,  I will  no  longer  urge  you  to  re- 
main with  me  ; but,  Claire,  remember  that  my  house 
shall  always  be  open  to  you  ; my  heart  ready  to  wel- 
come you  whenever  you  wish  to  return.  You  will 
write  to  Mrs.  Courtnay  to  relieve  her  uneasiness, for  it 
is  a long  time  since  that  letter  came,  and  she  must 
think  it  strange  that  she  has  not  before  heard  from 
you.” 


GLAIKE’S  KESOLUTION. 


369 


“ What  am  I to  write  ? Can  1 tell  her  that  I am  a 
rejected,  heart-broken  creature,  indebted  to  an  angel 
for  shelter  and  care  ? Could  I calmly  sit  down  and 
write  the  history  of  what  has  befallen  me  ? Oh, 
Heavens  ! it  would  madden  me  at  once.  I,  who  felt 
myself  the  queen  of  joy  and  happiness,  in  being 
crowned  with  Walter’s  love,  have  been  suddenly  cast 
down  from  the  height  of  bliss  to  the  darkness  of  de- 
spair ! Can  you  expect  me  to  tell  mamma  that?  No 
— no — I can  never — never  do  it ! ” 

“ Then  permit  me  to  write  a few  lines  to  your  friend, 
informing  her  as  briefly  as  possible  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  3^ou,  and  assuring  her  of  your  well-being 
under  my  care.” 

‘‘It  will  be  useless,  for  I must  soon  set  out  for  the 
valley  myself.  I have  money  enough  to  take  me  back 
to  my  old  home,  and  for  my  father’s  sake,  mamma  will 
not  refuse  to  do  all  that  I shall  ask  of  her.  I will  ac- 
cept nothing  from  Col.  Thorne.  He  shall  not  bu}" 
from  me  the  right  to  such  retribution  as  I intend  to 
compass.  Tell  him  that  I spurn  his  gold  as  con- 
temptuously as  he  spurned  me,  when  I went  to  his 
house,  believing  I should  be  gladly  welcome  as  its  mis- 
tress. Ah  ! such  dreams  of  grandeur  as  I had  ! — such 
visions  of  love  and  pride  ! Was  he  ever  kind  to  any- 
thing, Miss  Digby  ? He  looked  to  me  like  a man  of 
iron,  Avith  no  tenderness — no  sweetness  in  his  nature.” 

“ I estimate  Col.  Thorne  pretty  much  as  you  do. 
The  men  of  his  race  are  all  unrelenting  and  harsh  in 
temper.  They  trample  on  all  that  impedes  their  pro- 
gress, and  feel  little  remorse  for  having  done  so.  Wal- 
ter proved  his  descent  by  his  treatment  of  yourself, 
though  he  has  in  him  the  vacillating  fickleness  of  bis 
23 


370  the  CLAi^DESTlNE  MARRIAGE. 

mother,  which  takes  from  him  the  firmness  of  purpose 
that  is  his  father’s  distinguishing  trait.  He  knew  that 
he  could  not  be  happy  in  poverty,  but  he  will  find  it 
equally  impossible  to  be  contented  in  the  luxurious 
lot  he  has  chosen,  in  preference  to  an  humble  life  with 
one  who  loved  and  trusted  him  as  you  did.” 

“ I am  glad  you  think  that.  I would  not  have  him 
contented  without  me.  I would  have  him  remember 
me  in  every  hour  of  his  future  life  ; wish  him  to  regret 
the  past  till  all  joy  in  the  present  is  blotted  out.  I am 
revengeful,  you  will  say,  but  I think  that  I am  only 
human.” 

Yes,  my  dear,  and  you  prove  the  truth  of  the 
statement  that  the  human  heart  is  ^ prone  to  evil,  and 
desperately  wicked.’  For  your  own  sake,  Claire,  I 
wish  you  to  cast  such  things  aside ; they  will  only  sul- 
ly the  purity  of  your  own  soul.  You  are  young 
enough  to  outlive  even  such  a blow  as  you  have  re- 
ceived, and  in  time,  recognize  the  hand  of  God  in  its 
chastening.” 

Claire  shook  her  head  and  drearily  replied : 

That  is  impossible.  So  long  as  a drop  of  blood 
flows  through  my  heart,  it  will  bear  with  its  course  an 
indignant  protest  against  the  fate  that  has  been  award- 
ed me.  God  himself  has  formed  me  thus,  and  I can- 
not be  untrue  to  my  nature.” 

In  vain  did  her  friend  endeavor  to  combat  such  a 
belief.  She  found  a strong-willed  and  unreasoning 
creature,  where  she  had  hoped  to  find  a plastic  and 
yielding  one,  and  she  finally  thought  it  best  for  Claire 
to  follow  the  bent  of  her  own  inclinations. 

The  result  of  that  agitating  conversation  was  a re- 
lapse, and  Claire  lingered  tlirough  the  long  and  dreary 


CLAIRE’S  RESOLUTION. 


371 


winter,  too  inert  to  make  an  elBfort  to  regain  her 
spirits — too  hopeless  to  care  whether  she  lived  or  died. 

Nothing  was  heard  from  Walter  Thorne,  and  the 
weeks  rolled  by  till  Spring  began  to^open.  With  its 
first  warm  breath  health  began  to  return  to  the  stricken 
Claire,  for  now  she  had  an  object  to  attain.  She  must 
regain  her  strength  in  time  to  reach  the  valley  before 
Mrs.  Courtnay’s  departure,  and  with  this  incentive  she 
began  to  rally  from  her  deep  depression  and  regain  her 
wasted  energies. 

She  steadily  refused  to  see  any  of  the  visitors  that 
came  to  the  cottage,  though  more  than  one  felt  a warm 
interest  in  her  fate.  They  were,  however,  enemies  of 
Col.  Thorne,  and  would  have  espoused  the  cause  of  any 
one  he  had  badly  treated. 

His  political  enemies  did  not  fail  to  make  capital  out 
of  his  domestic  trouble,  and  Claire  would  have  been 
still  more  deeply  humiliated  if  she  had  known  the  use 
that  was  made  of  her  name  in  the  exciting  canvass  be- 
fore the  election  of  the  new  Governor.  But  Miss  Dig- 
by  carefully  kept  the  papers  from  her  sight,  and  she 
was  spared  this  crowning  shame. 

The  vituperations  lavished  on  the  popular  candidate 
had  little  effect,  however,  for  Colonel  Thorne  was 
elected  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  and  in  the  ela- 
tion of  success  he  again  wrote  to  Ada  Digby,  offering 
to  share  his  new  state  with  her.  The  answer  was  the 
same  unvarying  refusal,  and  she  wondered  when  her 
persevering  wooer  would  cease  to  enact  this  farce. 

Many  times  did  Claire  speak  of  the  necessity  of  set- 
ting out  on  her  journey,  but  her  kind  friend  always 
found  some  unanswerable  reason  for  detaining  her  lon- 
ger, until  she  at  last  grew  restive  and  determined  to  go 
without  Miss  Digby’s  knowledge. 


372  THE  CLANDESTINE  M/VRKIAGE. 

Claire  quietly  collected  the  few  things  she  wished 
to  take  with  her,  for  the  trunks  containing  Waltei 
Thorne’s  lavish  presents,  which  had  been  sent  to  the 
cottage,  she  resolved  to  leave  behind  her. 

One  night  in  April  she  disappeared^  leaving  the  fol« 
lowing  note  for  Miss  Digby : 

DEAii  AND  Kind  Friend  : — You  would  not  let 
n:e  go  if  I had  warned  you  of  my  intention,  but  I must 
leave  in  time  to  see  Mrs.  Courtnay  before  she^embarks 
for  Europe.  I have  set  my  heart  on  going  with  her, 
and  I think  she  will  not  refuse  to  take  me. 

Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  for  I am  not  so.  1 
shall  never  forget  your  kindness  to  the  forlorn  stran- 
ger thrown  upon  your  protection,  and  I will  write  con- 
stantly and  let  you  know  what  happens  to  me. 

“ I hope  some  day  to  see  you  again,  but  if  I do  I 
shall  briifg  with  me  from  my  foreign  exile  the  power 
to  right  my  wrongs.  If  that  is  denied  me  I shall  never 
seek  my  native  shore  after  once  leaving  it.  ‘ 

Beloved  friend,  adieu  ! think  kindly  of  me — pray 
for  me,  for  I can  seldom  pray  for  myself. 

Your  affectionate  protegee, 

‘‘Claire  Lapierre  Thorne.” 

Miss  Digby  was  much  annoyed  and  distressed  at  this 
unlooked  for  escapade,  and  she  reluctantly  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  any  attempt  on  her  part  to  reclaim 
Claire  would  be  useless.  The  path  she  marked  out 
for  herself  she  would  walk  on,  lead  her  whither  it  might. 
Her  friend  knew  that  the  runaway  could  easily  find 
her  way  back  to  the  valley,  as  she  had  the  means  of 
defraying  her  expenses  ; and  in  this  country,  even  so 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


373 


young  a girl  could  travel  with  perfect  safety  ; so  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  to  allow  Claire  to  pursue  her 
journey  without  molestation. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


ALTER  THORNE  decided  that  no  resource  was 


T 7 left  him  but  to  obey  his  father’s  commands. 
After  the  scene  with  Miss  Digby  which  has  been  de- 
scribed, he  returned  to  the  spot  on  which  he  had  left 
his  horse,  inwardly  raging  at  her  firmness  and  cursing 
’the  fate  that  drove  him  from  the  girl  of  his  choice,  to 
ask  another  woman  to  assume  the  place  from  which 
she  had  been  so  ignominiously  thrust. 

It  seemed  like  a dream  to  him  that,  in  the  space  of 
two  short  months,  he  should  have  been  married,  parted 
irrevocably  from  his  wife,  and  sent  upon  his  way  to 
assume  the  matrimonial  yoke  a second  time.  He  had 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  divorce  which  had  been 
applied  for  would  be  granted  without  delay,  and  he 
had  no  hope  that  his  father  would  consent  to  defer  his 
second  nuptials. 

I was  a fool,”  he  thought,  “ to  imagine  that  I 
could  influence  my  father  to  act  like  other  men.  He 
cares  for  nothing  so  much  as  his  own  will,  and  he 
would  crush  me  as  soon  as  any  other,  if  I set  myself 
hi  opposition  to  it.  1 feel  that  I am  a miserable  caitiff, 
unworthy  of  trust,  yet  I am  about  to  consummate  an- 
other deadly  wrong,  by  claiming  the  girl  who  is  the 


374  the  clandestine  marriage. 

cause  of  all  my  wretchedness.  But-  for  her  I should 
have  been  permitted  to  choose  my  own  wife  as  other 
men  do  ; but  she,  with  her  infernal  sharpness,  saw  that 
to  win  my  father  over  was  the  true  road  to  success  in 
securing  me.  And  I,  like  the  dollard  I am,  permitted 
my  fate  to  be  settled  for  me,  never  dreaming  that  I 
had  so  inconvenient  a thing  as  a heart  about  me.  Oh, 
m3"  poor  darling,  it  bleeds — it  bleeds,  though  you  v/ill 
never  believe  it  nor  forgive  me  for  giving  you  up  to 
save  mj^self  from  the  bitter  pangs  of  Avant  and  wretch- 
edness. If  I could  have  earned  even  a competence,  I 
believe — I hope  I should  have  acted  differentl}^  But, 
God  knows,  I am  very  Aveak  and  wavering — veiy  un- 
willing to  give  up  the  easy,  idle  life  I love,  even  for 
your  dear  sake.  You  had  your  visions  of  splendor  too, 
and  perhaps  you  would  not  have  been  better  contented 
in  obscurity  than  I should.  Heigho  ! perhaps  it  is  bet- 
ter, after  all,  that  we  should  part.  But  Agnes  must 
not  be  too  exacting,  or  I shall  be  no  better  husband 
than  my  father  was  before  me.” 

Thus  musing  he  mounted  and  rode  swiftly  aAvay, 
intending  to  take  the  stage  for  Philadelphia  at  the 
next  toAvn  on  the  route — for  it  was  before  the  day  of 
railroads. 

The  keen  air  of  the  autumn  night  allayed  the  fever 
in  his  blood,  the  image  of  the  pale  creature  he  had  so 
lately  seen,  almost  at  the  gates  of  death,  faded  gradu- 
ally from  his  mind,  and  he  occupied  his  thoughts  Avith 
her  he  Avas  on  his  Avay  to  seek. 

Had  any  busy-bod}^  Avritten  to  Agnes  of  the  eA-ents 
of  the  last  few  Aveeks,  thus  making  it  necessary  to 
have  a scene  Avith  her — perhaps  to  be  refused  after  all  ? 
But  that  vieAv  of  the  case  did  not  afford  him  much  an- 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


375 


m yance  ; if  Miss  Willard  asserted  the  dignity  of  her 
sex  and  withdrew  from  the  engagement,  who  knew 
what  the  result  might  be  ? At  any  rate,  he  could  re- 
main free  from  any  other  tie,  and  the  day  might  come 
in  which  he  could  renew  the  union  so  violently  broken. 

His  father  was  mortal,  and  his  repudiated  wife  was 
too  rigid  a Catholic  to  consider  herself  freed  fro^  the 
vows  she  had  taken  ; for,  with  her  belief,  death  alone 
could  sever  the  ties  that  united  them.  If  Col.  Thorne 
should  die,  leaving  him  master  of  his  fortune,  the 
wrong  he  had  been  forced  to  commit  might  be  atoned 
for  and  Claire  induced  to  forgive  him. 

Thus  dreaming,  Walter  Thorne  reached  the  small 
town  in  which  he  had  hired  his  horse,  and  found  that 
he  had  arrived  but  a few  moments  in  advance  of  the 
stage-coach.  The  horn  soon  sounded  through  the 
silent  streets,  and  he  hurried  out  to  secure  his  place, 
mindful  of  his  father’s*  last  threat  and  most  anxious 
to  conciliate  him  by  prompt  obedience  to  his  command 
to  reach  his  destination  as  soon  as  might  be. 

With  every  mile  that  separated  him  from  Claire, 
the  memory  of  her  pallid  face — of  her  great  wrong — 
grew  less  oppressive  ; and  with  his  usual  lightness  of 
nature,  Thorne  thought  that  all  was  for  the  best — that 
he  had  done  Avell  to  grasp  the  brilliant  realities  of  life 
sooner  than  cling  to  her  who  must  have  proved  a mill- 
stone around  his  neck,  sinking  him  down — down  to 
depths  of  poverty  which  he  shuddered  even  to  contem- 
plate. 

The  journey  was  a long  and  rather  tedious  one  at 
that  season  of  the  year,  but  his  spirits  revived  with 
every  mile  that  lengthened  between  himself  and  the 
unfortunate  object  of  his  summer  pursuit. 


876  the  cl  ANDESTIjq^E  MARRIAGE. 


On  the  second  night  of  traveling,  he  had  settled 
himself  comfortably  for  a good  nap,  and  was  almost  in 
the  arms  of  Morpheus,  when  there  was  a crash — a con- 
fused medley  of  outcries ; and  he  found  himself  lying 
in  the  wreck  of  the  shattered  vehicle,  with  the  horses 
plunging  violently  within  a few  feet  of  his  head.  For- 
tunately for  him,  the  driver  succeeded  in  cutting  the 
traces  before  his  brains  were  dashed  out,  and  he  was 
extricated  from  the  ruin  with  a sprained  ankle  and  a 
bruised  arm. 

The  only  other  passenger  beside  himself  escaped  in- 
jury, and  be  assisted  the  driver  to  remove  Thorne  to  a 
farm-house  which  was  luckily  in  sight.  He  was  hos- 
pitably received  and  everything  done  for  him  that  was 
possible,  but  he  was  laid  up  there  a month  before  he 
could  stand  on  his  foot  or  venture  to  use  his  limb 
again. 

Thorne  wrote  to  his  father  and  to  Agnes,  stating  the 
accident  that  had  befallen  him ; and  from  both  of 
them  he  heard  before  leaving  the  place  of  his  deten- 
tion. Col.  Thorne  informed  him  that  he  was  again  a 
free  man,  and  urged  him  to  set  out  for  Philadelphia 
as  soon  as  possible,  as  Mr.  Willard  was  sinking  from 
day  to  day ; and  if  his  son  wished  to  regain  his  favor, 
he  would  have  the  marriage  between  himself  and 
Agnes  celebrated  before  her  father’s  death. 

Thorne  had  gradually  brought  himself  to  believe 
the  late  episode  in  his  life  had  ended  in  the  best  man- 
ner for  all  concerned,  and  by  this  time  he  was  quite 
ready  to  obey  the  mandate  of  his  imperious  father. 
With  calm  thought  had  come  the  conviction  that 
Agues  Willard  would  hold  him  to  his  troth,  in  spite  of 
all  that  had  happened  since  they  l^st  parted.  He  had 


THE  D E A T H-B  ED  BRIDAL. 


37 


loathed  the  thought  of  meeting  her  with  words  of  ten- 
deri^ess  upon  his  lips  ; but  with  the  inconsistency  of 
his  nature,  as  he  drew  near  her,  the  old  influence  she 
held  over  him  began  to  revive,  and  he  looked  forward 
to  their  re-union  almost  with  pleasure. 

His  journey  from  the  place  of  the  accident  to  Phila- 
delphia was  more  fortunate,  and  by  the  time  he  was 
set  down  in  the  Quaker  city,  Thorne  was  eager  to  see 
Agnes  and  ascertain  from  her  manner  if  mischief  had 
been  made  between  them. 

He  had  never  been  in  love  with  Miss  Willard,  but 
her  stronger  nature  had  established  over  him  a power 
that  had  alwa3^s  moulded  him  to  her  will,  and,  in  spite 
of  himself,  Thorne  felt  its  influence,  even  before  they 
again  met  face  to  face. 

As  he  arranged  his  toilette  for  his  first  call  on  Mr. 
Willard  and  his  daughter,  Thorne  ruefully  surveyed 
himself  in  the  mirror,  and  muttered  : 

Agnes  will  marry  me  in  spite  of  myself.  Even  if 
she  has  heard  all  about  me  and  my  doings,  she’ll  keep 
dark  till  after  the  noose  is  tied,  and  then — well — then 
she  may  look  out  for  breakers,  for  my  temper  isn’t 
proof  against  everything.  If  I am  weak  I can  be  dan- 
gerous.” 

With  such  feelings  in  his  heart,  Thorne  tried  to  put 
on  a bright  and  smiling  expression,  and  he  went  on 
his  way  to  the  quiet  street  in  which  Mr.  Willard  had 
found  a boarding-house  to  suit  him.  He  found  the 
number,  rang  at  the  door,  and  sent  up  his  card. 

Thorne  was  ushered  into  a small  reception  room, 
comfortably  furnished,  with  a bright  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  he  sat  several  moments  absorbed  in  reverie  before 
it.  He  was  wondering  how  Agnes  would  look  ; what 


378  the  clandestine  marriage. 

she  would  say  when  they  met,  and  tiying  to  get  up 
some  show  of  interest  in  the  approaching  interview ; 
but  all  his  thoughts  were  suddenly  put  to  flight  by  the 
sound  of  a strange  voice  at  his  elbow. 

‘‘Mf.  Thorne,  I believe.  I am  glad  that  you  have 
arrived  at  this  crisis,  sir,  for  Mr.  Willard  is  almost  in 
articulo  mortis,  I have  been  affording  him  the  conso- 
lations of  religion,  but  his  anxiety  for  your  arrival  was 
so  absorbing,  that  I fear  he  was  not  so  much  benefitted 
by  my  ministrations  as  a man  in  his  condition  should 
be.  But  you  are  here  now,  and  his  mind  can  be  set  at 
rest  on  the  score  of  his  daughter’s  future.” 

Thorne  started  up  at  the  commencement  of  this  ad- 
dress, and  saw  before  him  ,a  tall,  pale  man,  of  grave 
and  stately  presence,  whom  he  should  at  once  have 
identified  as  a clergyman,  even  without  the  clue  to  his 
profession  afforded  by  his  words. 

‘‘Is  Mr.  Willard  so  bad  as  that?  I am  grieved  to 
hear  it,  for  I hoped  he  was  improving.” 

“ There  has  been  little  hope  from  the  first ; and  for 
the  last  few  days  he  has  rapidly  sunk.  I was  sent  for 
this  morning,  and  when  the  priest  is  summoned  to  the 
bedside  of  a worldly  man,  you  know  there  is  not  much 
hope  of  life  left  to  him.” 

Thorne  bowed,  and  briefly  asked : 

“ Can  I see  him,  sir  ? ” 

“ It  was  to  invite  you  to  his  room,  and  to  prepare 
you  to  comply  with  his  last  wishes,  that  I came  hither. 
I understand  from  Mr.  Willard  that  you  have  been 
long  betrothed  to  his  daughter,  and  it  is  his  most 
earnest  desire  to  see  you  united  to  her  before  he  passes 
away  from  earth  and  all  its  cares.  Every  arrange- 
ment has  been  made  in  anticipation  of  your  arrival,  as 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


379 


your  father  wrote  that  you  would  be  in  this  city  to- 
day.” 

The  suddenness  of  the  request  was  a severe  blow  to 
Thorne.  He  had  unconsciously  hoped  that  something 
might  interpose  to  release  him  from  the  necessity  of 
making  Agnes  Willard  his  wife  ; but  in  this  crisis  of  af- 
fairs he  saw  no  means  of  escape.  He  felt  the  net  narrow- 
ing around  him,  and  soon  he  would  be  bound  beyond 
the  possibility  of  escape.  He  confusedly  said  : 

It  is  quite  true  that  I have  long  been  betrothed  to 
Miss  Willard,  but — but  she  may  have  some  objections 
to  so  precipitate  a marriage.  I would  not  for  the 
world  be  the  cause  of  making  her  unhappy  in  any  way, 
and — and,  just  at  this  time,  with  her  father  so  near 
death,  she  may  shrink  from  fulfilling  the  compact. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I had  rather  be  married  myself  un- 
der more  cheerful  circumstances.” 

The  reverend  gentleman  evidently  regarded  him  with 
extreme  surprise.  He  coldly  said : 

Miss  Willard  offered  no  objection  to  an  immediate 
marriage.  On  the  contrary,  she  has  expressed  her  wil- 
lingness to  relieve  her  father’s  mind  of  all  uneasiness 
on  her  account,  by  accepting  you  as  her  legal  protector 
before  his  decease.  I think,  Mr.  Thorne,  that  nothing 
remains  to  you  but  to  accede  to  the  wish  of  both 
father  and  daughter.” 

With  a sort  of  reckless  despair,  Walter  replied: 

‘‘  I am  quite  ready  ; let  it  be  as  they  wish.  But — 
but  should  there  not  be  a license  ? — or  can  we  dispense 
with  that  formality  ? ” 

That  has  already  been  obtained,  in  anticipation  of 
your  arrival.  The  most  important  thing  now  is,  to  set 
the  mind  of  the  dying  man  at  rest,  and  that  can  only 


380  the  clandestine  marriage. 


be  done  by  making  his  daughter  your  wife.  The  ex- 
pediency of  your  marriage  will  scarcely  be  disputed  by 
any  one,  I presume,  as  all  parties  have  been  long  agreed 
concerning  it.” 

‘‘  No — there  will  be  no  one  to  set  aside  this  mar- 
riage,” said  Thorne,  with  intense  bitterness ; but  see- 
ing that  the  clergyman  looked  surprised  at  the  em- 
phasis, he  hastened  to.  add  : 

‘‘  I am  quite  ready,  sir.  Pray  lead  the  way  to  Mr. 
Willard’s  room.” 

Feeling  more  like  a criminal  going  to  execution, 
than  a bridegroom  about  to  meet  his  betrothed,  Walter 
Thorne  ascended  the  flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the 
upper  chambers,  and  drew  near  the  apartment  of  the 
dying  man.  The  door  was  softly  opened,  and  he  look- 
ed on  the  scene  within  with  a stony  calmness,  which 
gave  him  the  power  to  go  through  with  what  was  be- 
fore him  without  too  glaringly  betraying  the  reluc- 
tance with  which  he  played  the  part  required  of  him. 

Mr.  Willard,  only  the  ghastly  spectre  of  his  former 
self,  was  supported  in  a sitting  position  by  a number 
of  pillows;  and  his  daughter,  wrapped  in  a crimson 
shawl,  knelt  on  a cushion  beside  his  bed,  holding  in 
her  clasp  the  wasted  hands  that  were  already  chilling 
in  death. 

The  face  of  Agnes  was  worn  and  pale,  but  her  hair 
w as  carefully  arranged,  and  her  toilette  showed  that 
she  liad  not  forgotten  that  before  the  day  was  over, 
lier  betrothed  would  arrive.  She  raised  her  head  as 
he  entered  the  room,  and  gave  him  a single  glance,  and 
his  inconstant  heart  smote  him  as  he  saw  the  love- 
light  flash  into  the  eyes  from  which,  an  instant  before, 
tears  wefe  raining. 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


381 


“ Oh,  Walter,  you  are  here  at  last ! ” she  impulsively 
exclaimed.  ‘‘  I have,  looked  and  wearied  for  your 
presence — so  long — so  long.” 

Thorne  felt  the  reproach  ; at  that  moment  he  pitied 
her,  and  he  would  have  spoken  some  words  of  affec- 
tionate interest,  but  Mr.  Willard,  in  a voice  so  hollow 
tliat  it  sounded  as  if  issuing  from  a vault,  said  : 

‘‘You  are  in  time,  Mr.  Thorne.  We  have  long 
watched  and  waited  for  your  arrival ; but  although 
you  have  come  at  the  eleventh  hour,  you  are  not  too 
late  to  give  me,  before  I die,  the  certainty  that  my 
child  will  not  be  left  alone  in  the  world.  You  are 
readj^  to  give  your  hand  to  Agnes,  I do  not  doubt,  and 
she  has  already  assured  me  that  she  will  afford  me  this 
last  consolation  before  I leave  her  forever.” 

The  lips  of  the  young  man  refused  to  unclose  for  a 
moment,  but  the  effort  he  made  to  speak  was  at  last 
successful.  “ I am  quite  ready,  Mr.  Willard  ; though 
I regret  that  our  union  must  take  place  under  such 
afflicting  circumstances.  I had  no  idea  that  I should 
find  you  thus,  or  I should  have  made  an  effort  to  get 
here  before  this  time.” 

“ My  last  earthly  journey  is  almost  finished,  my  dear 
son,  but  I hope  to  see  you  and  Agnes  start  on  a long  and 
happy  one  before  the  curtain  falls  on  myself.  Doctor, 
will  you  ask  Mrs.  Ralston  to  step  in  this  room  for  a few 
moments  ? She,  v/ith  yourself,  will  be  sufficient  to 
witness  what  is  about  to  take  place  here.” 

A small  man,  in  black,  came  from  behind  a window 
curtain,  which  had  hitherto  shrouded  him  from  obser* 
vation,  and  crossing  the  floor,  opened  a door  which 
gave  into  an  adjoining  apartment. 

Agnes  arose  from  her  kneeling  position,  lookiBd  ear- 


382  the  clandestine  marriage. 


nestly  upon  the  agitated  face  of  Thorne,  and  extended 
her  hand  as  she  whispered : 

‘‘Do  not  be  alarmed,  Walter.  It  will  soon  be  over, 
and  we  must  think  more  of  papa  than  of  ourselves  just 
now.” 

Thus  brought  back  to  the  reality  of  the  part  he  was 
required  to  play,  Thorne  took  the  offered  hand,  lightly 
pressed  it,  and  replied  in  the  same  subdued  tone : 

“ Pardon  me,  Agnes.  I am  only  bewildered  by  the 
suddenness  of  all  this,  but  I am  sure  I am  not  frightened 
at  the  thought  of  claiming  you  as  my  own. 

“ And  I am  happy  to  become  yours,  even  thus,”  she 
fervently  replied,  a faint  roseate  glow  coming  into  her 
pale  cheek,  which  rendered  her  infinitely  attractive. 
“ You  have  been  a laggard  in  love,  but  when  I have 
only  you  to  cling  to,  you  will  atone  for  all  you  have 
made  me  suffer  since  we  met.” 

“ I will  endeavor  to  do  so,”  he  muttered,  wonder- 
ing if  she  really  knew  anything  of  the  events  of  the 
last  two  months,  and  yet  was  willing  to  forgive  and 
accept  him  again  as  if  nothing  had  happened  to  mar 
the  smooth  current  of  their  wooing. 

The  phj^sician  came  back,  accompanied  by  a lady  in 
mourning ; the  clergyman  unclosed  his  book ; Mr. 
Willard  made  a feeble  motion  to  him  to  commence"  the 
ceremony,  and  the  solemn  words  of  the  Episcopal  mar- 
riage service  were  spoken,  the  responses  being  almost 
mechanically  made  by  the  two  thus  inauspiciously 
joined  together. 

Thorne  felt  as  if  he  must  be  dreaming  ; that  he  who 
had  so  lately  plighted  himself,  heart  and  soul  to 
another  woman,  could  not  be  holding  the  hand  of  Ag- 
nes Willard  in  his  own,  vowing  to  love  and  cherish  her 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL 


383 


throughout  the  life  they  were  hencefoth  to  spend  to- 
gether. It  must  be  a horrid  nightmare  from  which  he 
would  presently  awake  to  find  himself  once  more  free. 

He  looked  pale  and  distraught ; but  the  girl  who 
stood  beside  him  glowed  with  exultation  that  she  had 
secured  him  at  last ; she  said  to  herself : 

Walter  does  not  yet  love  me  with  all  his  heart, 
and  soul,  but  he  shall  learn  that  sweet  lesson  before  we 
have  been  married  many  weeks.  My  father  is  leaving 
me,  but  another  who  is  even  dearer,  is  taking  his  place 
near  me,  and  even  beside  his  death-couch  I dar^  to  be 
happy.” 

When  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  Mr.  Willard 
sunk  back  with  a sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  feebly  said  : 

Now  I am  ready  to  go.  Be  good  to  my  child, 
Walter,  she  has  long  loved  you  most  faithfully.” 

The  newly  wedded  pair  knelt  beside  the  bed,  the 
clammy  hand  of  the  dying  man  was  laid  upon  the 
two  that  were  still  clasped  together,  and  Walter  felt  as 
if  its  chilling  grasp  was  upon  his  very  heart.  He  made 
an  effort  to  give  the  assurance  the  earnest  gaze  of  Mr. 
Willard  seemed  to  demand,  but  his  parched  lips  re- 
fused to  utter  the  words  he  would  have  forced  from 
them  ; and  he  could  only  look  intently  into  the  fading 
eyes  that  were  bent  searchingly  upon  his. 

What  the  father  read  there  with  the  clairvoyance  of 
a parting  spirit,  caused  him  to  utter  ,a  cry  of  anguish, 
and  in  a stronger  voice  than  he  had  yet  spoken  he  ex- 
claimed ; 

It  is  done,  alas  I and  cannot  be  undone  ; and  he 
fell  back  as  the  words  seemed  rent  from  his  lips,  strug- 
gling as  if  in  the  agonies  of  death. 

Agnes  started  up,  saying : 


884  the  clandestine  marriage. 

“ What  do  you  mean,  father  ? what  would  you 
have  undoiffe  ? Not  my  marriage  with  Walter,  I am 
sure.” 

Mr.  Willard  extended  one  of  his  long,  thin  fingers, 
and  pointing  to  his  newly  made  son-in-law  with  effort 
said  : 

My  daughter,  you  would  have  it  so,  but — the — fu- 
ture— will  prove — that — ^you  have  now — a barren  lot, 
I fear.  Kiss  me,  Agnes,  and  remember  that  I have 
only  done  what  you  wished,  in  the  hope  that  I was  se- 
curing your  happiness.” 

‘‘  I shall  remember  it,  father ^ and  I shall  always  be 
grateful.” 

A faint  convulsion  passed  over  the  face  of  the  dying 
man,  and  murmuring,  I trust  in  God  you  wilLliave 
cause  for  gratitude,  but  I fear — I fear  for  the  result  of 
this  daj^’s  work,”  he  sank  back  quite  insensible. 

Vain  were  all  the  efforts  of  his  physician  to  restore 
consciousness,  and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  he  took  his 
leave,  saying  that  he  would  return  again  towards  even- 
ing. Before  he  came  back  the  spirit  had  passed  away, 
and  the  room  was  left  to  the  silent  watchers  by  the 
dead,  while  the  bereaved  daughter  wept  away  her  sor- 
row on  the  breast  of  her  strangely  wedded  husband. 

In  those  hours  of  affliction  Thorne  could  not  refuse 
to  be  tender  with  her,  and  Agnes  deluded  herself  with 
tlie  belief  that  he  r.eally  cared  for  her  ; that  her  task  of 
winning  him  to  prefer  herself  above  all  others,  would 
not  be  so  difficult  after  all. 

Alas  ! if  she  could  have  looked  into  the  rebellious 
heart  that  beat  so  near  hers,  she  would  have  shrunk 
away  and  buried  her  face  in  the  dust  of  humiliation 
and  despair.  It  had  been  her  w’ll  to  bind  this  man  to 


THE  DEATH-BED  BKIDAL. 


385 


herself  with  bonds  he  was  powerless  to  break,  and  she 
had  never  dreamed  that  to  herself  they  might  in  the 
future  become  as  intolerable  a burden  as  they  were  to 
him  in  these  first  hours  of  their  precipitate  union. 

There  was  nothing  grand  or  self  sacrificing  in  the 
nature  of  the  man  Agnes  had  made  the  master  of  her 
fate,  and  he  was  forced  to  put  strong  constraint  upon 
himself  to  conceal  his  repulsion,  and  make  such  efforts 
as  were  necessary  to  soothe  the  hysterical  grief  over 
which  she  mourned  her  father’s  loss. 

The  last  words  of  Mr.  Willard,  my  child  you  would 
have  it  so,”  had  fatally  enlightened  him  as  to  whose 
will  had  entrapped  him  into  this  sudden  marriage,  and 
a feeling  of  bitter  resentment  and  disgust  was  aroused 
within  him.  Even  while  he  held  Agnes  clasped  to  his 
breast  he  said  to  himself  : 

‘‘  She  knew  all,  and  in  defiance  of  every  womanly 
feeling  she  has,  in  a manner,  compelled  me  to  become 
her  husband.  If  she  had  waited — had  given  me  time 
to  forget  that  stricken  creature  I have  been  forced  to 
desert,  her  old  influence  might  have  brought  me  back 
to  my  allegiance  to  herself.  But  she  feared  the  result — 
her  pride  shrank  from  being  left  to  wear  the  willow, 
and  she  has  consummated  her  own  wretchedness  and 
mine.  Qh,  Agnes,  if  you  could  only  understand  what 
you  have  done.” 

The  long  watching  beside  her  father’s  sick  bed  had 
completely  prostrated  the  strength  of  the  poor  bride, 
and  she  needed  constant  care  and  attention.  She 
turned  to  Thorne  so  helplessly ; appealed  to  him  so 
sweetly  and  gently  for  kindness,  that  he  would  have 
felt  himself  a brute  if  he  had  then  betrayed  what  was 
passing  in  his  heart. 

24 


386  the  clandestine  marriage. 


He  soothed  and  comforted  her  as  far  as  lay  in  his 
power,  and  in  spite  of  his  bitter  resentment  for  the 
course  he  believed  she  had  pursued,  he  was  flattered, 
and  at  moments  attracted  by  the  tenderness  with 
which  she  clung  to  him,  seeming  to  find  in  his  jpres- 
ence  consolation  for  the  loss  she  had  sustained. 

He  soon  found  it  impossible  to  remain  insensible  to 
the  proofs  of  affection  Agnes  lavished  upon  him  ; and 
gradually  a self-complacent  feeling  stole  over  him.  He 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  be  set  up  as  an  idol — to  be 
worshipped  by  one  so  superior  to  himself  as  his  father 
had  made  him  believe  Agnes  to  be.  But  for  that  mis- 
take on  the  part  of  Col.  Thorne,  Walter  might  long 
since  have  become  tenderly  attached  to  the  girl  his 
father  had  chosen  for  his  wife  ; but,  like  all  weak  men, 
he  recoiled  from  the  thought  of  claiming  as  his  own  a 
woman  who  would  perpetually  throw  him  in  the  shade, 
and  probably  rule  him  by  the  royal  right  of  superior 
intellect. 

Thorne  saw  with  intense  satisfaction  that  Agnes 
only  sought  to  win  her  way  to  his  heart,  to  place  him 
always  in  the  foreground,  and  render  to  him  the  lov- 
ing submission  due  from  a tender  wdfe  to  her  liege  lord. 

The  funeral  was  over.  Mr.  Willard  was  laid  to  rest 
in  Laurel  Hill,  and  still  the  young  pair  lingered  with 
Mrs.  Ralston.  Thorne  did  not  wish  to  return  to 

L quite  yet,  and  Agnes  had  no  desire  to  make  a 

bridal  tour  so  soon  after  her  father’s  death.  Her  tran- 
quility returned,  and  she  devoted  herself  to  the  object 
she  had  most  at  heart — the  winning  of  her  husband’s 
tenderest  love. 

As  the  weeks  flowed  on,  his  feelings  toward  her  be- 
gan to  soften,  and  he  almost  forgave  her  for  the  hur- 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL.  387 

ried  marriage  he  had  been  forced  to  make.  With  his 
usual  facility  Walter  Thorne  was  becoming  reconciled 
to  a state  of  affairs  which  he  had  so  lately  believed  to 
be  insupportable  to  him. 

It  was  only  when  he  recalled  that  other  honeymoon 
so  like  a dream  of  Heaven,  which  he  had  enjoyed  with 
the  brilliant  being  whose  cempanionship  made  the 
hours  fly  so  quickly,  that  he  felt  how  faded  and  com- 
mon-place was  this  one  beside  it.  But  he  resolutely 
put  from  him  all  such  memories  ; the  broken  life,  the 
embittered  heart  of  the  forsaken  one  he  believed  could 
be  condoned  by  the  gift  of  money,  and  he  silenced  the 
self-accusing  spirit  which  would  sometimes  make  itself 
heard.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  think  pecuniary 
compensation  would  be  a suiBBcient  atonement  to  Claire, 
for  had  he  not  surrendered  himself  to  his  father’s  will 
for  a price  ? And  neither  from  Col.  Thorne  nor  Miss 
Digby  had  come  any  intimation  that  his  forsaken  wife 
had  refused  the  annuity  offered  her. 

On  hearing  of  the  late  marriage,  his  father  wrote 
and  invited  himself  and  Agnes  to  return  at  once  to 
Thornhill,  and  take  up  their  abode  with  him.  When 
Agnes  heard  of  this  proposal,  she  gently  ^sked ; 

Would  you  prefer  living  with  your  father  to  a res- 
idence at  Willow  Glen  ? ” 

Thorne  shrugged  his  shoulders  : 

It  is  not  what  I prefer,  but  what  my  father  wishes, 
that  concerns  us.  He  is  tired  of  living  alone ; he 
might  And  a wife  for  himself,  if  he  were  not  so  obsti- 
nately bent  on  marrying  a woman  who  will  never  ac- 
cept him.  I really  think  his  wooing  is  the  most 
absurd  proceeding  that  a sensible  man  was  ever  guilty 
of.  However,  let  us  think  what  we  may  about  a home 


388  the  clandestine  marriage. 

of  our  own,  the  old  man  has  signified  his  pleasure,  and 
there  is  nothing  for  us  hut  to  accept  the  one  he  offers. 
In  a few  more  months  he  must  take  possession  of  the 
gubernatorial  mansion,  and  we  shall  have  Thornhill  to 
ourselves.” 

Agnes  smiled  faintly  as  she  replied : 

# ‘‘  Perhaps  Miss  Digby  will  lend  a more  favorabVe  ear 
to  Col.  Thorne’s  proposals  when  he  is  Governor  of  the 
State.” 

No  ; there  is  no  hope  of  that.  What  happened 
this  fall  set  her  more  completely  against  him.  If  Ada 
would  have  yielded  her  consent  to  marry  him,  she 
would  have  done  it  to  purchase  for  me ” 

Thorne  had  spoken  thus  far  without  thought,  but 
suddenly  the  whole  import  of  his  words  flashed  upon 
him,  and  he  looked  curiously  at  Agnes  to  see  what 
effect  they  had  produced.  She  was  listening  intently, 
but  with  no  apparent  discomposure,  and  he  marvelled 

at  her  self-command.  She  asked  in  the  same  even 

« 

tone : 

“ What  was  the  bribe  offered  by  Col.  Thorne  to  win 
her  for  his  wife?  I am  curious  to  know — it  must 
have  been  a strange  scene.” 

I dare  say : but  as  I did  not  witness  it,  I cannot 
describe  it.  Do  you  really  mean  what  you  say, 
Agnes  ? Are  you  not  fully  aware  of  all  that  occurred 
in  L — ^ — this  fall,  in  which  I was  implicated  ? ” 

She  looked  up  half-startled,  and  hurriedly  asked : 

‘‘  What  was  it,  Walter.  I know  nothing  of  what 
you  refer  to.  I was  too  much  taken  up  with  the 
fluctuations  of  my  father’s  illness  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  any  thing  else,  and  no  one  ever  wrote  to  us 
from  L except  Col.  Thorne.  He  was  ndt  like- 


THE  DEATH-BED  BRIDAL. 


389 


ly  to  tell  anything  to  your  disadvantage,  Walter, 
nor  could  it  have  been  a very  serious  scrape,  since  you 
extricated  yourself  from  it  so  easily.” 

Thorne  looked  keenly  and  doubtfully  at  the  fair  face 
of  the  speaker,  but  he  saw  nothing  in  its  expression  to 
induce  him  to  doubt  the  truth  of  her  words.  He 
knew  now  that  his  suspicions  had  done  her  injustice, 
and  the  knowledge  of  that  summer  folly  had  yet  to  be 
made  known  to  her.  He  laughed  in  an  embarrassed 
manner  and  lightly  said  : 

“ You  don’t  catch  me  telling  on  myself,  my  lady.  I 
thought  you  knew  all  about  it,  or  I should  not  have 
referred  to  the  affair  at  all.” 

Why  not  tell  me  of  it  now,  Walter,  for  I must 
sooner  or  later  know  all  its  details.  Whatever  con- 
cerns you,  I am  bound  to  inquire  into,  you  know.” 

A slight  frown  crossed  his  brow,  and  he  almost 
brusquely  said : 

The  less  you  know  about  this,  the  better  for  your- 
self, Agnes.  I would  not  advise  you  to  make  any  in- 
quisition into  that  foolish  affair,  if  you  prize  the  peace 
that  now  exists  between  us.” 

A vivid  flush  mantled  her  cheeks,  but  she  repressed 
the  words  tliat  arose  to  her  lips,  for  she  possessed  a 
]iaughty  temper,  and  was  little  used  to  rough  lan- 
guage. 

As  you  please,”  she  simply  said,  and  turned  away 
without  another  word ; but  she  was  not  the  less  de- 
termined to  make  the  inquiries  he  seemed  so  nervously 
to  deprecate. 


390  the  clandestine  marriage. 


CHAPTER  XXIV, 


THE  wife’s  discovery. 


ONES  no  sooner  found  herself  alone  than  she  sat 


down  to  write  to  the  only  friend  she  possessed  in 
L on  whom  she  could  rely  for  a truthful  and  can- 

did history  of  what  her  husband  had  refused  to  tell 
her.  She  had  a vague  feeling  that  both  her  honor  and 
happiness  were  in  some  way  concerned  in  this  mystery, 
and  she  was  resolved  to  probe  it  to  its  depths  before 
she  returned  to  the  town  in  which  the  event  referred  to 
by  Thorne  had  occurred. 

She  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  answer,  with  a keen 
anxiety  proportioned  for  her  love  to  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  given  her  hand.  When  it  at  last  came,  she 
tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  the  following  lines 
from  Ada  Digby : 


L , January  15,  18 — . 


My  Dear  Agnes  : — You  have  asked  of  me  a very 
painful  service,  and  my  reply  to  your  questions  can 
only  give  the  deepest  pain  to  yourself,  yet  I cannot  re- 
fuse to  answer  them. 

‘‘  I am  aware  that  Walter  is  now  your  husband,  and 
if  it  were  possible  to  keep  from  you  all  knowledge  of 
the  event  which  has  formed  the  gossip  of  this  place  for 
the  last  three  months,  I would  gladly  do  so.  But  you 
are  coming  hither  to  take  up  your  abode,  I understand, 
and  what  must  then  inevitably  become  known  to  you 
had  better  be  told  by  a friend  before  you  arrive. 

“ Walter  should  have  made  his  own  confession,  and 


THE  WIFE’S  DISCOVERY. 


391 


obtaijied  your  forgiveness  ; perhaps  he  would  have 
done  so,  but  for  the  suddenness  of  your  marriage.  The 
facts  are  these  : — 

^‘During  his  summer  tour,  Walter  unfortunately 
met  with  a very  attractive  young  girl,  a child  in  years, 
and  eloped  with  her  from  the  home  of  her  adopted 
mother.  A Catholic  priest  united  them,  but  no  wit- 
nesses were  present,  and  there  was  nothing  to  prove 
the  marriage. 

‘‘  Col.  Thorne  took  advantage  of  these  facts  to  have 
it  set  aside  ; he  refused  to  receive  the  young  girl  as  his 
son’s  wife,  and  sent  her  from  his  house  when  Walter 
took  her  there.  He  brought  her  to  me,  and  she  is  still 
under  my  protection,  though  she  insists  on  leaving  in 
a short  time  to  return  to  the  friend  from  whom  she  so 
imprudently  ran  away. 

‘‘  I have  stated  as  briefly  as  possible  what  you  wish- 
ed to  know,  and  now  my  dear  Agnes,  receive  patiently 
a few  words  of  advice  from  one  so  much  your  senior  in 
years,  who  is  deeply  interested  in  your  happiness. 

“ I trust  that  the  great  affection  you  have  so  long 
cherished  for  your  husband  will  enable  you  to  forgive 
his  temporary  inconstancy.  He  is  irrevocably  separated 
from  the  object  of  his  passing  fancy,  and  she  is  so  ut- 
terly disenchanted  with  him  that  I think  she  has  ceased 
to  feel  anything  but  resentment  toward  him.  I think 
she  will,  in  time,  recover  from  the  blow  his  desertion 
gave  her,  and  find  a happier  lot  than  hers  could  have 
been  with  the  man  who  was  willing  to  give  her  up  at 
the  command  of  his  father. 

‘‘The  adoring  love  you  have  so  long  lavished  on 
Walter,  gives  me  the  hope  that  you  can  forgive  even 
this  wrong,  and  be  happy  with  him  in  spite  of  hia 


392 


THE  CL  ANDESTIISE  MARRIAGE. 


ephemeral  fancy  for  another.  I would  have  written  to 
3’ou  of  Vvdiat  was  going  on  here,  had  I thought  that 
you  would  listen  to  any  accusation  brought  against 
him  ; but  I believed,  that  in  the  blindness  of  your  attach- 
ment to  Walter,  you  would  cling  to  him  in  spite  of  the 
entanglement  from  which  Col.  Thorne  was  so  resolute 
to  free  him.  I regret  now  that  I did  not  do  so,  as 
you  would  then  at  least  have  had  a choice  of  action. 

‘‘Now  yon  are  Walter  Thorne's  wife,  and  but  one 
course  remains  to  you,  to  forgive  and  forget  the  brief 
inconstancy  of  which  your  husband  was  guilty.  The 
future  is  your  own,  and  with  your  charms  of  person 
and  mind,  you  cannot  fail  to  keep  the  heart  you  prize 
so  highlj^  true  to  yourself. 

“Your  attached  friend, 

“Ada  Digby.” 

As  Agnes  read,  every  shade  of  color  fled  from  her 
features,  and  when  the  last  line  was  reached,  she  fell 
as  if  dead.  She  was  alone  and  how  long  she  lay  insen- 
sible she  did  not  know.  When  she  regained  conscious- 
ness it  was  several  moments  before  she  could  recall  her 
scattered  senses,  or  realize  the  mortal  blow  that  had 
fallen  on  her. 

Agnes  Thorne  was  a woman  of  strong  passions,  and 
keen  resentments : proud,  too,  as  Lucifer,  the  son  of 
the  morning,  and  the  thought  of  the  humiliation  of  her 
position  was  almost  as  maddening  to  her  as  was  the 
shock  to  her  affections.  In  those  moments  all  the  pas- 
sionate'^love  she  had  given  her  husband,  seemed  turned 
to  bitterness.  He  had  secretly  wedded  her  rival,  and 
even  taken  her  to  his  father's  house  in  the  hope  that 
she  would  be  acknowledged  as  his  wife. 


X R WIFE’S  DISCOVERY.  393 

And  then,  like  the  craven  he  was,  he  had  given  her 
up  because  he  dared  not  face  the  poverty  with  which 
she  instinctively  knew  his  father  had  threatened  him. 
To  save  his  inheritance,  Walter  Thorne  had  basely 
sacrificed  one  woman,  and  as  basely  wedded  another. 
He  believed  her  rich  too,  and  the  iron  entered  her  soul, 
at  the  thought  that  her  supposed  fortune  had  in- 
fluenced him  to  make  her  his  wife.  The  white  lips 
muttered  : 

He  will  be  disappointed  in  that,  for  the  wreck  left 
from  my  father’s  estate  is  a mere  pittance,  and  it  is  se- 
cured to  me  in  such  a manner  that  he  cannot  touch  it. 
He  should  not  noiv  have  a penny  of  it  even  if  that 
hard  old  man  were  to  cast  him  out  to  beggary.  Oh, 
Walter  ! Walter  ! to  think  how  kindly,  how  unselfishly 
I have  loved  you,  and  you  could  make  no  return  better 
than  this  ! ” 

Married — divorced — remarried,  all  in  the  space  of 
a few  fleeting  months  ! and  I — I to  be  humiliated, 
pointed  at  as  the  wife  accepted  at  his  father’s  hands, 
while  the  one  he  preferred  to  me  is  remorsely  cast  out 
to  break  her  heart,  or  to  harden  it,  till  hate  take  the 
place  of  the  wild  passion  she  must  have  felt  for  him 
to  forsake  her  home,  her  friends,  everything  for  his 
sake.” 

Her  passion  of  anger  and  wounded  pride  unfortu- 
nately had  not  time  to  exhaust  itself  before  Thorne 
came  in  looking  animated  and  happy,  carrying  in  his 
hand  a bouquet  of  hothouse  flowers  which  he  had  tak- 
en great  pains  to  select  for  her  himself. 

Agnes  heard  his  step  bounding  up  the  stairs  ; that 
step  which  of  late  had  been  the  music  of  her  life,  but 
now  it  only  caused  her  heart  to  contract  painfully,  and 


394  the  clandEvSTine  marriage. 


brought  a gleam  of  fire  into  her  Ijght  blue  eyes  that 
might  well  have  startled  him.  She  .arose  white,  and 
defiant,  from  the  seat  on  which  she  had  cast  herself, 
and  stood  facing  the  door,  grasping  Miss  Digby’s  letter 
in  her  hand. 

As  Thorne  entered  the  apartment,  he  gaily  said  : 

“ See,  Agnes,  what  lovely  flowers  I have  brought 
you  ; heliotrope,  roses,  japoriicas,  all  your  favorites  are 
there  ; it  costs  like  the  deuce  to  gratify  a taste  for  ex- 
otics at  this  season,  I can  tell  you.  But  I shall  not 
care  for  that,  if  they  please  you.” 

She  snatched  the  bouquet  from  his  hand,  threw  it 
upon  the  floor,  and  trampled  it  under  her  feet.  For  a 
moment  her  husband  regarded  her  with  stupefied  as- 
tonishment ; then  a hot  flush  of  anger  mounted  even 
to  his  brow,  and  he  spoke  between  his  half-closed 
teeth ; 

Madam,  what  does  this  mean  ? Have  j^ou  lost 
your  senses,  that  you  treat  thus  the  costly  flowers  1 
have  selected,  thinking  they  would  afford  you  pleas- 
ure.” 

In  tones  of  cutting  scorn  Agnes  replied  : 

It  means  that  from  your  hand  no  gift  will  ever 
again  be  prized  by  me.  It  means  that  henceforth  there 
can  be  neither  love  nor  trust  between  us,  though  we 
are  unfortunately  bound  together  for  life.  Read  that 
letter,  Walter  Thorne,  and  see  for  yourself  what  I 
have  learned  to-day.  Oh  ! had  I but  known  of  your 
treachery  in  time,  you  would  have  been  spared  accept- 
ing the  hand  y ou  have  tainted  by  your  false  touch. 
You  would  have  been  free  to  reclaim  the  bride  you 
chose  in  preference  to  me,  yet  had  not  the  manhood  to 
stand  by  when  your  father  bade  you  give  up  her,  or. 


THE  WIFE’S  DISCOVERY.  395 

* fortune.  I know  not  which  is  most  unfortunate  ; the 
girl  who  so  fatally  trusted  you,  or  the  iinhappj  one 
who  now  stands  to  you  in  the  relation  of  wife.” 

Overwhelmed  by  this  passionate  torrent  of  words, 
Thorne  stood  for  a few  moments  looking  amazed  and 
indignant.  He  then  stooped  and  took  up  the  letter 
she  had  disdainfully  thrown  toward  him.  He  glanced 
down  the  page,  understood  the  nature  of  its  contents, 
and  a dangerous  glare  came  into  his  dark  eyes  as  he 
lifted  them  to  the  pallid  face  that  confronted  him. 
But  the  steel-blue  orbs  that  met  his  did  not  quail  be- 
fore the  lurid  fire  of  his  glance.  Agnes  was  too  indig- 
nant, and  far  too  deeply  outraged  at  this  moment,  to 
think  of  or  care  for  the  consequences  of  a rupture 
bet^yeen  them. 

‘‘  I warned  you,”  he  hoarsely  said,  ‘‘  yet  you  have 
iared  to  pry  into  that  almost  forgotten  folly.  The 
girl  referred  to  in  this  precious  missive,  is  nothing  to 
me  now^  and  we  should  never  have  been  silly  enough 
to  fancy  that  we  could  be  all  in  all  to  each  other. 
Have  I not  put  her  aside  ? Have  I not  married  you, 
and  does  not  that  assure  you  that,  as  Ada  says,  my 
love  for  hgr  was  but  a passing  fancy  ? Come,  Agnes  ; 
be  reasonable,  you  have  carried  your  point ; you  would 
^ marry  me,  for  your  father  said  as  much  almost  with 
liis  dying  breath,  and  now  you  are  ready  to  quarrel 
with  me  for  a thing  that  has  been  repented  of  long 
ago.” 

With  a movement  of  superb  disdain,  she  haughtily 
said  : 

‘‘You  dare  to  taunt  me  with  the  hurried  union  in- 
to which  we  so  unhappily  rushed,  and  I presume  you 
imagine  that  I insisted  on  it  to  secure  so  precious  a pos- 


306  the  clandestine  markiage. 


session  as  yourself.  But  you  are  mistaken.  I did  sug< 
gesf.  to  ni}^  father  that  our  marriage  could  he  solemnized 
befoi  e iiis  death,  but  it  was  to  lift  from  his  heart  a 
weight  that  pressed  heavily  upon  it.  He  had  lived 
beyond  his  income ; he  knew  that  he  was  ruined,  and 

all  that  was  left  of  .his  fortune  was  our  horn  ^ in  L , 

whicli  is  deeply  mortgaged,  and  a few  thousand  dollars 
he  has  managed  to  secure  to  me.  I believed  then^  that 
to  yourself  and  your  father,  the  loss  of  my  fortune 
would  be  of  little  importance  : so  far  as  Col.  Thorne  is 
concerned  I still  think  so ; but  what  am  I to  think  of 
you^  Avhen  you  surrendered  jom  first  wife  at  his  com- 
mand because  you  feared  disinheritance  ? ” 

The  face  of  Thorne  underwent  a marked  change  as 
Agnes  made  this  unexpected  statement.  It  was  cer- 
tainly a severe  blow  to  him,  for  he  had  looked  forward 
to  complete  independence  of  his  exacting  father 
through  the  fortune  he  expected  to  gain  with  her  hand. 
Unconsciously  to  himself  this  anticipation  had  enabled 
liiin  to  yield  to  the  force  brought  to  bear  upon  him — 
with  a better  grace  than  he  would  otherwise  have 
found  possible. 

He  sullenly  replied:  ^ ^ 

Your  estimate  of  yourself  is  but  just.  ^ would 
never  have  married  you  if  I had  known  this.  If  I 
must  have  taken  a dowerless  bride,  I would  at  least 
have  clung  to  the  woman  I preferred  above  every  other. 
I loved  Claire  ; I tolerate  you^ 

With  a sudden  and  most  expressive  motion  Agnes 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  rapidly  beating  heart,  but 
she  haughtily  replied  : 

vFor  once  I hear  the  truth  from  your  lips,  Walter 
Thorne,  and  1 believe  it  is  for  the  first  time.  False, 


THE  WIFE’S  DISCOVERY.  397 

craven,  and  interested  in  your  motives,  what  is  there  to 
admire,  or  respect  in  such  a man  as  you  ? What  is 
left  on  which  to  build  a hope  of  faith,  or  trust  in  the 
future?  Yet — yet  it  is  my  misfortune  to  be  your 
wife  ! ” 

Thorne  threw  himself  upon  a chair  and  laughed 
mockingly : 

Upon  my  word,  this  is  a rare  scene  with  which  to 
treat  the  man  you  proposed  to  win  to  love  you.  That 
was  your  expectation  in  marrying  me,  washrt  it  ? To 
that  I owe  the  pretty  submission  you  have  hitherto 
shown  me  ; the  graceful  blandishments  3^011  have  la- 
vished upon  me  ? Come,  Madam  ? resume  the  mari- 
tal yoke,  and  learn  to  play  the  part  of  the  demure 
Griselda  ; it  is  more  becoming  to  your  position  than 
these  tragedy  queen  airs.  You  have  made  me  your 
master,  and  in  spite  of  the  intellectual  superiority  you 
rissume,  I intend  to  prove  to  you  that  I will  maintain 
the  authority  you  have  given  me  as  the  ruler  of  your 
fate.” 

If  lightning  from  the  eye  would  kill,  he  would  have 
been  scathed  by  the  glance  that  quickly  traversed  his 
[)erson.  Agnes  drew  up  her  stately  figure  to  its  ut- 
most height,  and  scornfully  retorted : 

Before  I submit  to  be  ruled  hj  such  a man  as  you, 
all  the  fire  of  m\"  nature  will  be  crushed  out,  every  im- 
pulse of  my  soul  deadened.  No — I will  never  become 
the  slave  of  any  man ; certainly  not  of  one  who  has 
forfeited  every  claim  on  my  respect  or  esteem.  Go 
back,  and  take  to  your  false  heart  the  one  for  whom 
you  avow  a preference.  She  may  bend  before  you,  but 
I will  defy  you  to  the  bitter  end.  I loved  you  madly, 
stupidl^^ ; but  that  phase  is  over.  I will  never  forgive 


398  the  clandestine  marriage. 


you  for  the  insult  you  have  put  upon  me.  You  broke 
your  faith  to  me  ; doubly  broke  it  to  her  you  have  so 
cruelly  forsaken.  You  have  placed  me  in  a position  I 
abhor  above  all  others  ; that  of  wife  to  a man  who  has 
another  living  claimant  on  that  sacred  name.  Her 
claims  are  superior  to  mine,  for  the  law  of  Heaven  em- 
phatically says,  ‘ whom  God  hath  joined  together  let 
no  man  put  asunder.’  ” 

Again  Thorne  uttered  that  mocking  laugh  which 
grated  on  her  heart,  and  drove  her  almost  to  frenzy. 

“ That  law  is  obsolete,  m3’'  fair  tigress.  Men  have 
made  better  ones  for  themselves,  and  the  old  man  was 
sharp  enough  to  make  sure  that  I was  freed  from  my 
first  bonds  before  I came  hither  to  assume  new  ones, 
in  such  a d — 1 of  a hurr}"  that  I had  no  time  to  remon- 
strate. The  divorce  was  hurried  through  the  court 
rather  indecorously — but  it  was  given,  and  you  belong 
to  me.  Haughty  and  defiant  as  you  are,  you  will  yet 
find  it  your  best  policy  to  bend  your  proud  neck  and 
accept  the  fate  you  were  so  eager  to  make  certain.  If 
you  had  left  me  a loophole  of  escape,  I would  have 
availed  m3"self  of  it,  and  left  you  half  broken-hearted 
at  losing  my  precious  self.  But  you  would  not — 3’ou 
hurried  me  into  bondage,  under  such  painful  circum- 
stances, that  I was  debarred  from  uttering  any  protest ; 
and,  in  spite  of  the  fury  into  which  you  have  worked 
yourself,  I am  not  so  sure  that  the  histor}"  of  the  di- 
vorce had  not  reached  you  before  our  union  took  place. 

What  L rang  with  for  weeks,  could  hardly  escape 

being  told  to  one  so  deeply  interested  in  it,  by  some  of 
your  correspondents,  though  vou  find'  it  to  your  inter- 
est to  sham  ignorance  now.” 

If  anything  could  have  added  to  the  storm  of  indig- 


THE  WIFE^S  DISCOVERY. 


399 


nation  and  insult  raging  in  the  heart  of  Agnes,  this 
last  taunting  assertion  was  calculated  to  do  so.  Thorne 
had  thrown  down  the  gage  of  battle,  and  she  promptly 
accepted  it.  She  seemed  suddenly  to  harden  into 
marble,  and  with  the  coldest  scorn,  replied  : 

“ It  is  worthy  of  you  to  speak  thus — to  utter  a sus- 
picion as  degrading  to  me  as  it  is  flattering  to  youi 
own  vanity.  I have  stated  the  truth : believe  it 
or  not,  as  you  may  choose.  But  if  I had  been  aware 
of  your  previous  marriage — of  the  heartless  treatment 
that  hapless  girl  received  at  your  hands,  I would  have 
died  sooner  than  assume  her  rightful  place.  The  law, 
as  you  say,  binds  me  to  j^ou,  but  since  you  have  found 
a divorce  so  easy  of  attainment,  I can  avail  myself  of 
the  same  means  to  regain  the  control  of  my  own  fate. 
I shall  not  hesitate  to  do  so,  and  you  may  again  figure 
before  the  tribunals  before  many  more  weeks  pass 
away.” 

Thorne  looked  at  her  with  a half  smile  so  full  of  de- 
fiance, that  she  felt  as  if  nothing  could  ever  induce  her 
to  forgive  him.  He  coolly  said  : 

‘‘  I shall  not  allow  such  a proceeding  on  your  part. 
It  would  ruin  me  with  my  father,  and  render  the  sac- 
rifice I have  made  of  no  value  to  me.  Without  my 
consent  you  can  never  obtain  a divorce  ; and  little  as 
I care  for  you,  I will  not  be  made  ridiculous  by  you. 
Wg  have  both  put  on  fetters,  and  heavy  as  they  may 
be — deeply  as  they  may  cut  into  our  hearts — it  is  my 
will  that  they  shall  be  worn  to  the  end.  I have  pro- 
nounced your  fate,  Mrs.  Thorne,  so  make  up  your 
mind  to  submit  to  it  with  a good  grace.” 

A leaden  weight  seemed  to  fall  on  the  heart  of  the 
listener.  Her  courage  gave  way,  and  the  woman  in 


400  the  clandestine  marriage. 

her  nature  asserted  itself : she  burst  in  tears,  and  after 
many  moments  of  convulsive  weeping,  she  found  voice 
to  say : 

will  reserve  my  decision  till  I have  seen  and 
talked  with  your  father.  He  has  a genuine  affection 
for  me,  if  you  have  only  counterfeited  it.  I may  con- 
sent to  remain  with  you,  but  in  the  future  I can  see 
nothing  but  wretchedness  in  a continued  union  between 
us.  I do  not  deny  that  I have  loved  you  above  all 
earthly  beings — above  even  my  hopes  of  Heaven  ; but 
that  was  when  I believed  you  to  be  true  and  honora- 
ble. I believed  that  your  affection  for  me,  though  less 
earnest  than  mine  for  you,  would  deepen  into  a tender 
and  lasting  regard  for  the  woman  who  so  highly  esti- 
mated you.  But  you  have  stripped  the  ideal  being  I 
worshipped  of  the  attributes  with  which  I gifted  him, 
and  I see  in  you  but  a tyrant  to  be  dreaded — a master 
whose  chain  I will  not  wear.  If  I am  forced  to  walk 
through  life  with  you,  it  will  be  over  a path  burning 
with  angry  passions,  scarred  Avith  bitter  dissensions. 
My  temper  is  not  one  to  forgive  or  forget  an  injury, 
and  j^ou  will  do  well  for  yourself  to  allow  me  to  obtain 
a legal  separation  from  you.” 

Thorne  brusquely  replied : 

‘‘  And  haA^e  a d — 1 of  a fuss  with  the  oid  man  that 
rules  me  with  a rod  of  iron.  No — thank  you — and 
much  as  you  seem  to  rely  on  Col.  Thorne’s  protection, 
he  will  help  me  to  keep  you  in  bounds.  We  shall 
not  live  like  turtle  doves,  as  you  had  sentimentally  pic- 
tured to  yourself,  but  we  can  at  least  consent  ‘ to  dwell 
in  decencies  forcA^er.’  Since  I have  marred  iny  life  to 
please  my  father,  you  can  at  least  take  up  your  cross, 
with  the  meekness  becoming  to  one  of  your  sex.  He 


THE  WIFE’S  DISCOVERY. 


401 


will  no  more  consent  to  grant  you  a divorce  than  I will. 
I have  made  you  my  wife  : you  willingly  assumed  the 
obligation,  and  I do  not  choose  to  free  you  from  it. 
Understand  that  and  return  to  your  sober  senses. 

If  you  had  gone  on  as  you  had  commenced  I might 
have  loved  you  in  time  ; I was  beginning  to  feel  ten- 
derly  toward  you,  but  your  bitter  words  have  uprooted 
every  gentle  feeling.  I have  done  wrong — I freely  ad- 
mit it,  but  regret,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  is  at  an 
end.  You  used  language  to  me  which  the  most  ardent 
affection  could  not  survive.  The  path  we  must  tra- 
vel on  may  be  hard  and  arid  enough,  but  it  is  you  who 
have  made  it  so  ; it  will  be  you  who  will  soften  or  em- 
bitter my  soul  still  more.  A woman  must  be  an  angel 
of  peace  in  such  a home  as  mine  will  be^  or  the  demon 
of  discord  will  rule  over  it.  Choose  your  own  course, 
for  I have  said  that  you  shall  be  its  mistress,  come  what 
will.” 

Agnes  listened  to  him  with  shivering  anguish — all 
fire  seemed  for  the  time  to  have  died  out  of  her  soul, 
and  she  could  only  feel  how  deeply  the  iron  had  en- 
tered into  it.  In  spite  of  his  cruel  harshness — his 
plain  avowal  that  his  own  will  had  not  made  him  her 
husband,  her  traitorous  heart  still  clung  to  him  with 
that  tenacious  love  which  alike  defies  wrong  or  injury 
to  destroy  it.  The  threat  of  leaving  him,  which  she 
liad  made  in  the  violence  of  her  passion,  she  felt  that 
she  would  be  most  unwilling  to  carry  out,  and  it  was 
a feeble  consolation  to  her  that  Thorne  refused  to 
grant  her  the  freedom  wliich  would  have  been  odious 
to  her,  although  it  was  done  in  so  brutal  a manner. 

Yet,  with  her  haughty  and  imperious  temper,  her 
bitter  sense  of  slight  and  humiliation,  Agnes  knew  that 
25 


402  the  clandestine  marriage. 


she  could  never  again  assume  the  bearing  of  a tender 
and  submissive  wife  toward  the  husband  who  asserted 
his  prerogative  in  such  terms.  There  could  be  no 
peace  in  the  house  in  which  they  would  dwell  together 
— no  confidence  between  them, — yet  w^  these  con- 
victions in  her  heart,  after  a few  moments^f  reflection, 
she  said  : 

Have  your  will,  then  ; but  remenj^r  that  you 
have  as  fiery  a nature  as  your  own  toj^eal  with,  and 
what  I have  said  I adhere  to.  I will  not  be  your  slave 
— I am  your  equal  in  every  respect,  and*^ias  such  I will 
be  treated.” 

He  laughed  again — the  hollow,  cynicaft^augh  which 
grates  so  harshly  on  the  heart  of  the  listener. 

“ It  is  well,  madam,  that  you  have  been  wrought  on 
to  se^  the  necessity  of  coming  to  such^^  conclu|i6m 
But  should  you  find  my  rule  a hard  o^'fie  you  ’^i^ld 
gain  nothing  by  severing  yourself  from  me.  Since 
your  fortune  is  gone,  even  the  hollow  state  ofi^mis-^ 
tress  of  Thornhill  will  be  better  than  poverty  an^ ob- 
scurity. To  evade  them,  you  will  remain  in  the  *J)osi- 
tion  I have  given  you;  I think  we  are  quits  now.” 

Agnes  raised  her  head  with  all  her  native  pride^  and 
fixedly  regarded  him  as  she  disdainfully  replied.^^' 

I had  not  thought  of  that,  but  as  you  say,  it  may 
be  as  well  to  retain  the  material  enjoyments  of  life,  even 
if  all  else  is  swept  away.  I could  not  endure  a sordid 
home  or  narrow  income,  and  Thornhill  will  be  some- 
thing, even  if  its  future  master  proves  a rude  and 
overbearing  companion.  The  little  my  father  left  is 
secured  to  me,  and  I shall,  in  a measure,  be  independent 
of  you,  thougli  1 am  your  Avife.” 

“ So  be  it,  madam  ; yet,  if  my  father  had  been  aware 


THE  WIFE’S  DISCOVERY. 


403 


of  the  state  of  Mr.  Willard’s  affairs,  I scarcely  think 
he  would  have  acted  with  so  high  a hand  as  he  did. 
But  the  past  is  irrevocable,  and  you  do  well  to  retain 
what  is  of  more  value  to  sensible  people  than  so  un- 
certain a thing  as^  a man’s  heart.  ‘ Beware  of  the  first 
quarrel,’  has  been  uttered  as  a warning  to  married 
pairs,  and  we  would  have  done  well  to  take  heed  to  it. 
Our  first  one  has  been  bitter  and  hard  enough,  but  I 
have  the  presentiment  that  it  is  only  the  beginning 
of  the  end.  You  and  I will  fight  the  battle  of  life  lite- 
rally, 1 can  see  plainly  enough.  You  will  always  seek 
to  gain  the  upper  hand  of  me,  and  I intend  to  be  mas- 
ter in  my  own  house.” 

“ It  would  be  better  if  you  could  learn  to  be  master 
of  yourself,”  was  the  cold  response. 

And  Agnes,  weary  and  heart-sore,  arose  and  left  the 
room  before  he  could  retort. 

I shall  not  follow  her  into  the  seclusion  of  her  cham- 
ber to  depict  the  wild  struggles  that  rent  her  heart, 
embittered  her  nature,  and  prepared  her  for  the  reck- 
less and  wretched  future  that  lay  before  her. 

I have  described  this  first  quarrel  from  which 
sprang  the  deadly  Upas  that  overshadowed  her  home, 
poisoning  its  atmosphere,  and  blighting  those  that 
dwelt  within  it.  She  made  no  attempt  to  conciliate 
her  husband  ; she  liad  conceived  for  him  too  bitter  a 
contempt  for  that,  and  the  love  that  held  her  to  him 
only  made  her  despise  herself  because  she  could  not 
uproot  it.. 

Agnes,  in  those  first  moments  of  suffering,  bitterly 
blamed  herself  for  yielding  to  the  first  transjDorts  of 
outraged  love  and  pride  ; but  for  the  mutual  recrimina- 
tions which  had  broken  up  the  very  foundations  of 


404  the  clandestine  marriage. 


wedded  happiness,  the  cloud  in  time  might  have  lifted 
and  forgiveness  been  accorded ; but  now,  with  her 
husband’s  words  of  insult  tingling  in  her  ears,  his 
cruel  taunts  striking  to  her  heart,  she  felt  that  all 
hope  of  that  was  past.  True,  she  had  acted  and  spokeji 
violently  at  first,  but  had  she  not  sufficient  provoca- 
tion ? Could  anj^  love  less  insane  than  hers  condone 
the  wrong  that  had  been  done  her?  Yet  Thorne  liad 
thrown  on  her  the  blame  of  their  rupture,  as  if  the 
deadly  offence  lay  not  with  him. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  so  haughty  a woman  did 
not  cast  forever  from  herself  the  chain  that  so  bitterly 
galled  her  ; but  Agnes  had  loved  Walter  Thorne  from 
girlhood,  and  without  him  the  world  looked  dark  to 
her,  in  spite  of  all  he  had  done  to  estrange  her.. 
Therefore  she  clung  to  him  still,  and  when  continued 
discord  widened  the  gulf  between  them,  till  life  was 
scarcely  endurable  beneath  the  same  roof,  she  still  re- 
mained in  her  home,  because  she  was  too  proud  to 
recall  her  word,  and  too  sensitive  to  be  willing  to  al- 
low the  tongue  of  scandal  to  busy  itself  with  her 
ruined  life  and  blighted  affections. 

Ada  Digby  stood  by  her  through  all  her  trials,  and 
many  efforts  did  she  make  to  bring  about  a better  state 
of  affairs  in  the  splendid  desert  Walter  Thorne  and 
his  wife  called  their  home.  Such  influence  as  she  had 
once  possessed  over  him  was  lost,  and  he  became  hard, 
reckless,  and  at  times  dissipated ; his  only  aim  in  life 
seeming  to  be  to  prove  to  his  unhappy  wife  that  in  be- 
ing forced  into  a union  with  her,  he  had  lost  all  respect 
for  himself  or  for  her. 

But  I am  anticipating  ; other  events  must  be  related 
which  had  a bearing  on  the  fate  of  husband  and  wife, 
before  their  complete  estrangement  was  accomplished. 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  406 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES. 

Exhausted  with  weeping — almost  incapable  of 
further  suffering,  Agnes  lay  upon  the  sofa  on 
which  she  had  thrown  herself.  She  was  trying  to  ar- 
range her  thoughts,  and  prepare  for  the  return  of  her 
husband.  How  should  she  meet  him  ? How  atone 
for  the  bitter  words  she  had  uttered,  and  yet  maintain 
her  own  dignity. 

The  question  was  set  at  rest  in  a most  unexpected 
manner.  A note  from  Thorne  was  brought  to  her,  in 
which  he  briefly  informed  her  that  he  had  joined  a 
party  of  gay  young  men  on  an  excursion  to  New  York, 
as  he  thought  it  best  to  absent  himself  until  she  had 
recovered  from  her  anger,  and  learned  submission  to 
him  as  her  lawful  lord  and  master.  It  might  Jook 
strange  that  he  had  deserted  her  in  the  honeymoon, 
but  when  all  the  honey  had  turned  to  vinegar  it  was  of 
little  consequence  how  soon  the  fact  became  patent  to 
the  world.  He  should  be  back  before  very  long,  he 
could  not  tell  exactly*  when,  but  he  was  not  vain 
enough  to  suppose  she  would  sigh  for  his  presence, 
when  she  had  so  harshly  snubbed  him  in  their  last  in- 
terview. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  page  he  added : 

Do  not  be  afraid  that  I have  gone  back  to  my 
pretty  love.  I have  no  such  intention,  for  it  would 
embroil  me  too  deeply  with  the  old  man.  It  is  to  our 
mutual  interest  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  him,  as  he 
has  everything  in  his  power.  When  I return  to  Phila- 


406  the  clandestine  marriage. 


delpbia,  we  will  set  out  at  once  for  Thornhill ; once 
safely  there,  we  must  play  the  part  assigned  us  in 
the  dreary  tra.gi-comedy  called  life.  I scarcely  think 
that  we  shall  brighten  it  for  each  other,  but  we  must 
at  least  drag  the  chain  that  has  been  fastened  upon  us ; 
not  with  my  consent,  you  know.  Yet  as  I have  al- 
ready told  you,  I will  not  have  a link  loosened — ^you 
had  your  way  in  that,  and  now,  I will  have  mine.” 

The  absence  of  Thorne  wa's  a relief  to  the  unhappy 
Agnes,  though  she  read  his  flippant  letter  with  a rag- 
ing sense  of  bitterness  and  added  indignity  that  nearly 
maddened  her. 

She  paced  her  room  for  hours,  too  restless  to  remain 
quiescent — too  wretched  to  occupy  herself  with  any- 
thing but  her  own  miserable  thoughts.  She  recalled 
the  past,  and  lived  it  over  again,  gleaning  little  conso- 
lation from  it.  She  had  always  known  that  Walter 
Thorne’s  preference  for  her  was  very  lukewarm  ; that 
he  had  submitted  to  the  wishes  of  his  father  in  engag- 
ing himself  to  her,  rather  than  been  prompted  by  any 
strong  feeling  on  his  own  part. 

Yet  firm  in  her  belief  that,  as  his  wife,  she  could 
win  him  to  love  her,  she  had  not  scrupled  to  hurry 
their  union,  though  her  father  had  not  urged  such  a 
course  upon  her.  Mr.  Willard  knew  the  state  of  his 
afi'airs,  and  trembling  for  the  future  of  his  daughter, 
with  the  small  provision  he  could  make  for  her,  he  ^ 
eagerly  grasped  at  the  proposal  first  suggested  by 
Agnes  herself,  to  marry  Walter  Thorne  before  his 
death,  and  relieve  his  mind  from  all  dread  on  her  ac- 
count. Her  will  had  been  carried  out,  yet  all  that  she 
had  gained  was  thrown  away  in  a moment  of  ungovern- 
anger  and  outraged  pride.  She  had  subjected 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  407 


herself  to  the  suspicion  of  haying  secured  a rich  hus- 
band before  the  state  of  her  father’s  affairs  was  known 
to  any  one  but  herself;  and  for  what?  To  gain  the 
hand  of  a man  who  had  dishonored  himself  in  her  esti- 
mation ; on  whose  heart  she  possessed  no  claim  ; over 
whose  temper  there  was  no  control.  Yet  she  loved 
him  ! That  was  the  refrain  to  all  her  restless  thoughts. 

She  would  never  make  him  happy  ; she  did  not  think 
she  would  now  even  make  an  effort  to  do  so,  yet  she 
could  neither  release  heart  nor  hand  from  the  fiery 
bondage  in  which  they  were  held. 

Fortunately  for  Agnes  she  was  not  in  a regular 
boarding-house,  in  which  her  desertion  so  soon  after 
her  marriage  must  have  proved  a fruitful  theme  of 
gossip.  Mrs.  Ralston,  the  mistress  of  the  pleasant 
house  in  which  her  father  had  taken  refuge,  was  the 
widow  of  an  old  friend  of  his,  who  eked  out  a too 
narrow  income  by  taking  a family  into  her  two  spare 
rooms,  and  Mr.  Willard  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
find  them  unoccupied  on  his  arrival  in  Philadelphia. 

Mrs.  Ralston  was  a quiet,  undemonstrative  woman, 
who  saw  all  that  passed  around  her,  without  comment- 
ing upon  it.  She  was  very  tender  with  Agnes,  for  she 
saw  how  unhappy  she  was,  and  came  to  the  silent  con- 
viction in  her  own  mind,  that  the  precipitate  marriage 
which  had  taken  place  beside  the  bed  of  the  dying 
father,  was  most  unfortunate  for  both  parties  concerned 
in  it.  She  read  the  character  of  both  husband  and 
wife  very  clearly,  and  in  the  early  days  of  their  in- 
aiiSj[)icious  union,  she  saw  that  all  the  devotion  was 
on  one  side,  met  on  the  other  by  a repressed  coolness 
which  proved  to  her  that  the  bridegroom  was  on  his 
good  behavior  for  the  time  being. 


408  the  clandestine  marriage. 

But  Mrs.  Ralston  was  not  prepared  for  Thorne’s  sud« 
den  escapade,  and  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  account 
for  it.  Here  was  this  young  and  friendless  wife,  left  a 
few  brief  weeks  after  her  marriage,  in  a strange  city 
entirely  alone,  while  her  husband  rushed  off  to  New 
York  with  a party  of  gay  young  men,  who  would  be  sure 
to  lead  him  into  every  dissipation. 

After  that  first  rude  note  announcing  his  departure, 
Thorne  wrote  no  more  to  his  wife,  and  week  after  week 
rolled  by,  each  day  and  hour  widening  the  breach  be- 
tween them.  The  lonely  watcher  grew  wan  and  list- 
less ; the  fiery  agony  of  her  bitter  trial  burned  to  ashes, 
but  she  still  suffered  in  a dumb,  helpless  way. 

Christmas  came  with  its  festivities.  The  childreil, 
of  whom  Mrs.  Ralston  had  three,  made  quite  a jubilee 
in  the  house,  and  the  forlorn  Agnes  endeavored  to  in- 
terest herself  in  their  gleeful  sports.  She  roused  her- 
self from  the  apathy  of  grief,  to  go  out  and  purchase 
presents  for  them,  in  the  hope  that  the  sight  of  their 
happiness  would  lift  a portion  of  the  leaden  weight 
that  lay  upon  her  own  heart. 

But  nothing  could  do  that ; she  smiled  on  them,  lis- 
tened to  their  innocent  prattle,  and  replied  to  it  with 
apparent  cheerfulness,  but  bitter  to  her  was  the  sound 
of  merry  laughter,  when  her  own  heart  lay  like  a froz- 
en thing  in  her  bosom.  Six  more  weeks  passed  by, 
and  the  middle  of  February  had  come  without  bringing 
any  tidings  of  the  absent  husband.  Unable  to  endure 
this  neglect  any  longer,  Agnes  went  into  Mrs.  Rals- 
ton’s sitting-room  and  abruptly  asked  : 

‘‘  Do  you  think  it  would  be  difficult  to  travel  to 
L this  week  ? ” 

Mrs.  Ralston  looked  up,  surprised  out  of  her  usual 
equanimity. 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  409 


‘‘  My  dear  Mrs.  Thorne,  I not  only  think  it  would 
be  difficult,  almost  impossible.  Heavy  snows  have 
lately  fallen,  and  in  many  places  the  roads  must  be 
nearly  impassable.  Besides,  how  could  you  go  alone  ? 
What  would  your  husband  think  on  his  return  to  find 
you  gone  ? ” 

“ It  matters  very  little  now  what  he  thinks,”  said  Ag- 
nes in  a constrained  tone.  ‘‘  He  has  been  gone  two 
months,  and  I have  not  yet  heard  from  him.  It  would 
serve  him  right  if  I went  away,  and  never  allowed  him 
to  find  me  again.” 

‘‘  My  dear  young  friend,  don’t  say  that.  I do  not 
understand  what  has  happened  to  estrange  you  and 
your  husband  from  each  other  so  soon  after  marriage, 
but  I would  strongly  advise  you  to  do  nothing  to 
alienate  him  more  completely  from  you.  He  must  be 
back  in  a few  days  more,  I think.” 

‘‘  I do  not  agree  with  you.  He  will  stay  as  long  as 
he  is  amused  ; as  long  as  he  thinks  he  can  torture  me 
by  his  neglect.  Oh,  Mrs.  Ralston  ! if  my  heart  had  not 
turned  to  stone  it  must  have  broken  long  before  this 
time ; ” and  with  a gasping  sob  she  sat  down  close  to 
the  fire,  shivering  even  in  its  warmth. 

Mrs.  Ralston  took  her  cold  hand  in  both  her  own, 
and  tenderly  caressing  it,  gently  said : 

“ I have  seen  that  you  suffered  deeply,  Mrs.  Thorne, 
but  I have  refrained  from  seeking  your  confidence,  for 
I think  that  a sense  of  injury  between  husband  and 
wife  deepens  if  its  cause  is  discussed  with  another. 
When  you  meet  Mr.  Thorne  again,  better  feeling  may 
arise  between  you,  and  you  may  yet  live  together  in 
peace  and  happiness.” 

“Never!  never!”  was  the  passionate  response. 


410  the  clandestine  marriage. 


Our  home  must  be  a scene  of  discord,  for  I am  re- 
sentful and  Walter  is  passionate.  He  cares  nothing 
for  me  ; yet — ^yet  I was  mad  enough  to  exult  in  the 
thought  of  becoming  his  wife.” 

After  a painful  pause  Mrs.  Ralston  said : 

‘‘  Having  become  such  it  is  your  duty  to  try  and 
smooth  the  diflBcult  path  before  you.  When  Mr. 
Thorne  returns,  receive  him  kindly ; act  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  to  wound  j^ou,  and  you  may  yet  win  the 
affection  you  say  you  do  not  possess.” 

‘‘  Too  late  ! too  late,”  came  brokenly  from  the  pale 
lips  of  Agnes.  I have  angered  him  beyond  forgive- 
ness, yet  I declare  to  you  that  mine  was  not  the  greatest 
fault.  I cannot  explain  to  you  what  came  between  us, 
for  cruelly  as  Walter  has  treated  me,  I do  not  forget 
that  I am  his  wife  ; that  I am  bound  to  shield  him  from 
censure  if  it  is  in  my  power  to  do  so.” 

‘‘You  are  quite  right  in  that,  Mrs.  Thorne;  and  I 
should  be  unwilling  to  listen  to  any  accusation  brought 
by  you  against  your  husband.  With  such  right  feeling 
on  your  part,  the  estrangement  which  now  causes  you 
so  much  suffering  must  come  to  an  end.” 

“ Oh  would  that  it  might ! but  it  never  will ! I 
know  that  it  never  will,  and  if  I had  strength  to  tear 
myself  forever  from  him,  it  would  be  better  for  us  both. 
Tell  me,  Mrs.  Ralston,  is  it  not  better  for  those  who 
know  that  hope  of  a perfect  reconciliation  is  impossible, 
to  tear  asunder  the  ties  that  bind  them  to  each  gther, 
than  to  drag  out  life  in  a weary  round  of  wretched 
bickering  ? Such  must  be  our  lot,  if  we  continue  to  live 
beneath  the  same  roof.” 

Mrs.  Ralston  looked  shocked  ; she  gravely  said ; 

“ I hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  Mrs.  Thorne.  You 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIKE  AND  AGNES.  41] 

evidently  love  your  husband  very  devotedly,  whatever 
may  be  his  feelings  toward  you ; and  so  attractive  a 
woman  as  yourself,  should  not  despair  of  winning  the 
regard  of  the  man  to  whom  you  have  plighted  your 
faith.  Since  you  have  asked  my  opinion  of  a divorce, 
I will  tell  you  that  I consider  such  a step  unjustifiable 
without  extreme  ill-usage.  Marriage  is  a contract 
sanctified  by  heavenly  as  well  as  earthly  laws,  and  the 
holy  book  tells  us  that  man  shall  not  sunder  those  the 
church  has  joined.  The  fate  of  the  woman  who  sepa- 
rates herself  from  her  husband  is  rarely  a happy  one 
in  the  isolation  to  which  she  condemns  herself;  and 
the  voice  of  the  world  is  always  against  her.  It  is 
often  unjust  in  its  condemnation,  I know,  but  that 
scarcely  heals  the  wounds  inflicted  by  its  censures.” 

‘‘  Then  a woman  must  bear  everything  and  seek  no 
redress.  If  I could  bring  myself  to  tell  you  why  my 
appeal  would  be  considered  just,  even  by  a censorious 
world,  you  would  reason  differently.  Tell  me  this  ; if 
— if  the  divorced  party  married  again  while  the  hus- 
band or  wife  still  lives,  do  you  believe  the  second  mar- 
riage to  be  valid  ? ” 

The  law  of  the  land  makes  it  so,  but  the  sacred 
law  is  plainly  against  it.  Conscience  must  be  the 
guide  of  one  placed  in  such  a position.  But  I should 
be  sorry  to  think  that  you  would  seek  freedom  from 
your  husband,  only  to  give  your  hand  to  another,”  re- 
plied Mrs.  Ralston  in  cold  surprise.  ‘‘I  have  not 
surely  been  mistaken  in  believing  you  ardently  at- 
tached to  the  man  you  married.” 

I was  ! alas ! I still  am  in  that  humiliating  bon- 
dage. I was  not  thinking  of  my  own  course  when  I 
asked  that  question,  nor  can  I explain  to  what  it  re- 
ferred/’ 


412  the  clandestin-e  marriage. 


Mrs.  Ralston  regarded  her  compassionately,  but  said 
nothing  more.  After  a long  pause,  Agnes  again  spoke. 

I must  see  my  husband’s  father.  Col.  Thorne  is 
as  much  attached  to  me  as  he  can  be  to  any  one.  He 
is  a hard  man  in  some  respects,  but  he  can,  and  he  will 
give  me  such  counsel  and  assistance  as  I so  greatly 
need.  I will  no  longer  wait  here  for  a laggard  who 
never  comes.  I will  brave  the  snow  drifts,  and  if  I 
perish  in  them  it  will  be  better  than  living  in  the  icy 
atmosphere  I have  lately  breathed.  I can  bear  this  no 
longer,  and  to-morrow  I shall  set  out  for  L .” 

In  vain  did  Mrs.  Ralston  combat  this  resolve.  She 
found  too  strong  a will  opposed  to  hers,  and  her 
nephew,  a young  clerk  in  the  city  who  boarded  with 
ker,  was  sent  to  secure  a place  in  the  coach  that  was 
to  leave  the  following  morning. 

With  feverish  haste  Agnes  finished  her  packing,  and 
sat  down  to  write  a few  lines  to  be  delivered  to 
Thorne  when  he  returned  and  found  her  gone.  She 
said : 

‘‘  You  deserted  me  in  the  most  shameful  and  heart- 
less manner,  and  not  satisfied  with  that,  you  sent  me  a 
parting  blow  in  the  letter  you  left  behind  you. 

I have  watched,  and  waited  long  enough  for  your 
return,  to  satisfy  the  sense  of  wifely  duty  that  is  in  m3? 
heart,  and  now,  I shall  guide  my  own  fate,  whethei 
for  weal  or  woe  remains  to  be  seen.  I am  going  to 

L to  lay  before  your  father  all  that  has  occurred 

between  us,  and  by  his  decision  I will  abide.  He  at 
least,  has  feeling  enough  for  me  to  advise  what  will  be 
best  for  me,  without  reference  to  you.  Agkes. 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  413 

It  was  a cold,  nipping  day,  with  bright  sunshine 
over-head,  and  a deep  snow  that  had  fallen  the  previ- 
ous night,  upon  the  earth.  But  Agnes,  wrapped  in 
furs,  bade  defiance  to  the  severity  of  the  weather,  and 
set  out  on  her  long  journe}^ 

She  felt  that  the  life  of  weary  hopelessness  she  had 
lately  led,  must  end  in  action,  or  her  reason  would 
give  way.  She  took  leave  of  her  hostess  and  the  chil- 
dren, promising  to  write  to  Mrs.  Ralston,  when  she  had 
any  good  news  to  impart  to  her,  and  took  her  place  in 
the  crowded  vehicle.  Ladies  traveling  alone,  even  in 
winter,  is  too  common  an  occurrence  to  attract  much 
notice  to  any  particular  one,  and  Agnes  sat  silent,  and 
self-absorbed;  scarcely  noting  the  progress  they  made. 
She  had  a long  journey  before  her,  but  that  did  not 
daunt  her,  and  the  hours  passed  on,  she  scarcely  knew 
how.  At  night,  a few  hours  sleep  were  obtained,  and 
then  on — on  they  went,  over  the  snow-clad  earth. 

A few  miles  from  Philadelphia  the  coach  was  ex- 
changed for  a well-appointed  sleigh,  and  the  bells  on 
the  horses  jingled  merrily  as  they  dashed  over  the  froz- 
eri  surface- of  the  snow.  Under  other  circumstances, 
Agnes  would  have  enjoyed  this  rapid  and  exhilarating 
motion  ; even  as  it  was,  her  spirits  began  to  revive  a 
little,  and  she  looked  less  like  a marble  woman  than  on 
the  day  they  set  out. 

But  the  long  tension  on  her  mind  and  heart  had  been 
too  much  for  her  strength  to  bear,  and  within  a day’s 
journey  of  her  destination  she  fell  ill,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  stop  at  a roadside  tavern,  at  which  the  horses 
wore  changed. 

She  was  carried  in  nearly  insensible,  and  the  kind- 
hearted  landlady  had  the  best  room  the  house  afforded 


414  THE  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


prepared  for  her.  Exhausted,  both  in  mind  and  body, 
Agnes  fell  almost  immediately  into  a deep  stupor,  which 
lasted  so  long  that  Mrs.  Jones  was  alarmed  for  the  re- 
sult. Fortunately  she  was  a good  nurse,  and  she  suc- 
ceeded in  restoring  the  patient  sufficiently  to  take 
nourishment,  but  her  mind  evidently  wandered,  and  it 
was  many  days  before  she  regained  control  of  it. 

For  weeks  Agnes  lay  in  a state  of  catalepsy,  from 
which  she  would  arouse  to  utter  wild  mutterings,  and 
call  upan  her  husband  to  come  back  to  her  and  save 
her  heart  from  breaking.  She  always  believed  that  to 
this  state  of  semi-unconsciousness  she  owed  her  life  at 
that  time  ; her  painfully  agitated  mind  relaxed  into 
partial  torpor,  thus  affording  time  for  the  physical  en- 
ergies to  react  and  restore  the  equilibrium  which  had 
been  so  fatally  disturbed. 

When  Agnes  recovered  sufficiently  to  understand 
where  she  was,  the  bright  sunshine  of  early  spring  was 
shining  in  her  room  and  the  budding  branches  of  the 
trees  rustled  against  her  window,  while  the  merry 
chirping  of  birds  greeted  her  awakening  senses. 

She  awoke  from  her  long  lethargy,  and  looked  won- 
deringly  around  the  strange  room  in  which  she  found 
herself.  She  attempted  to  rise,  but  finding  herself  too 
weak  to  do  so,  she  faintly  asked : 

Where  am  I ? What  on  earth  has  happened  to 
bring  me  to  this  place  ? ” 

A slight  figure  arose  from  her  seat  near  the  head  of 
the  bed,  and  a young  but  deeply-saddened  face  looked 
down  on  hers.  She  hurriedly  said  : 

You  are  sane  again,  thank  Heaven  ! and  I can 
learn  what  I wish  so  earnestly  to  know.  What  I hava 
lingered  here  so  many  days  to  ascertain.’’ 


THE  MEETITO  OF  CLAIRE  AXD  AGNES.  415 


Agnes  looked  at  the  speaker  with  dreamy  eyes  ; she 
thought  her  lovely  enough  for  an  angel  visitant,  though 
there  was  little  of  heavenly  peace  in  those  fathomless 
dark  eyes ; little  of  angelic  humility  in  the  curve  of 
the  proud  lips. 

This  being,  young  as  she  was,  had  evidently  borne 
wrong  and  grief,  and  they  had  not  softened  or  improved 
her  nature.  Agnes  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and 
after  a pause  she  asked : 

What  is  it  you  wish  to  know  ? I do  not  remember 
that  I have  ever  seen  you  before.” 

‘‘No,  for  we  never  met  till  four  days  ago,  and  in 
that  time  j^ou  have  shown  no  signs  of  consciousness  till 
now.  I have  watched  beside  you  many  hours,  in  the 
hope  that  you  would  revive  sufficiently  to  enlighten  me 
as  to  what  I wish  to  learn.” 

A sudden  light  flashed  into  the  dimmed  eyes  of 
Agnes,  and  her  numbed  heart  began  to  beat  violently. 
She  rapidly  said  : 

“ I understand — who  are  you  ? what  do  you  wish  to 
know  of  me  ? How  did  you,  a stranger,  come  to  watch 
beside  me  ? ” 

“It  is  easily  explained.  I stopped  here  for  the 
night,  on  my  way  to  Virginia.  They  gave  me  the  next 
room  to  this,  and  through  the  thin  partition  I could 
not  avoid  hearing  your  rambling  words.  The  name  of 
Walter  Thorne  was  often  on  your  lips,  and — and  it 
possesses  also  a deep  interest  for  me.  I lingered  here, 
and  offered  my  assistance  to  Mrs.  Jones  in  watching  over 
you,  in  the  hope  that  you  would  recover  suflSciently  to 
tell  me  of  him.  Where  is  he  ? Has  he  become  the 
Imsband  of  that  young  girl  his  father  insisted  that  he 
should  marry  ? Are  you  another  of  his  broken-hearted 
victims  ? ” 


416  the  clandestine  marriage. 

These  words  recalled  all  the  bitter  past  to  the  un* 
happy  Agnes,  and  she  painfully  moaned : 

I am  that  most  unfortunate  girl.  I am  the  desert- 
ed wife  of  Walter  Thorne  ; in  the  first  month  of  our 
marriage  he  left  me  and  went  to  New  York.  He  did 
not  write  to  me,  and  after  waiting  as  long  as  I could 
for  his  return,  I set  out  for  home  alone.  I became  sud- 
denly ill,  and  Heaven  knows  how  long  I have  lain  here. 
Snow  was  on  the  ground  ^hen  I last  remember  any-  _ 
thing,  and  now  the  leaves  are  budding  on  the  trees.” 

Claire  listened  to  her  with  a faint  flush  stealing  to 
her  changed  cheek ; the  bitter  resentment  toward  the 
one  who  had  supplanted  her  died  out  at  this  statem'ent, 
but  she  fiercely  asked  : 

‘‘  Did  you  not  know  before  you  married  Walter 
Thorne  that  another  had  been  thrust  violently  from  the 
position  you  were  about  to  assume?  That  her  heart 
was  broken,  her  life  crushed  by  the  base  treachery  of 
which  she  was  the  victim  ? ” 

As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I did  not  know  it.  I 
would  have  died  sooner  than  give  him  my  hand,  if  I 
had  been  told  in  time.  When  I discovered  how  he 
had  acted,  the  quarrel  that  ensued  caused  the  separa- 
tion between  us.  He  left  me  in  violent  anger,  and  I 
have  not  seen  him  since.  I scarcely  know  now  if  I 
ever  desire  to  see  him  again.” 

Then  I have  wronged  you,  and  I ask  your  pardon 
for  it.  We  are  partners  in  suffering,  for  you  are  the 
deserted  wife  of  that  false  man  and  I am  his  repudiated 
one.  Which  is  the  most  unfortunate,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  decide.  His  father  will  compel  him  to  return 
to  you^  for  you  were  liu  choice,  though  I was  Walter’s. 
With  me,  he  might  have  become  a good  man,  for  he 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  417 

loved  me ; with  you,  he  will  become  a demon  of  pas- 
sion, for  he  is  a man  to  resent  bitterly  the  compulsion 
which  has  been  used  toward  him,  and  he  will  not  be 
generous  enough  to  forbear  toward  her  who  was  the 

cause  of  it.  He  will  breajc  your  heart,  and  then 

Well — when  you  are  under  the  sod,  the  world  shall 
see  how  I can  avenge  the  wrongs  he  has  put  upon  us 
both.” 

Agnes  listened  to  these  words  with  dilating  eyes,  and 
she  asked,  in  faltering  tones  : 

“ What  can  you  mean  ? Are  you  mad  to  talk  thus  ? 
I wish  I had  died  since  I have  been  lying  here.  I can- 
not see  why  I have  been  brought  back  to  so  wretched 
a life  as  mine  must  henceforth  be.  Take  it,  if  you  will. 
I have  unconsciously  injured  you,  but  I have  courage 
to  bare  my  breast  to  the  stroke  of  your  dagger ; the 
blow  from  your  hand  will  be  less  painful  than  the  one 
he  dealt  me.” 

Claire  shook  her  head,  and  a faint  but  very  bitter 
smile  crept  to  her  lips. 

I do  not  carry  a weapon,  and  if  I did,  I should  not 
use  it  on  you,  though  you  are  my  rival.  What  should 
I gain  by  killing  you,  while  the  old  colonel  still  lives  ? 
I can  wait ; the  great  reaper.  Death,  will,  in  time,  re- 
move you  both  from  my  path,  for  my  day  must  come  ; 
God  would  not  be  just  if  it  did  not ; and  he  finds  means 
to  punish  wrong- doing  even  in  this  world.  ‘ The  mills 
of  the  gods  gTind  slowly,’  but  fate  consummates  all 
things,  if  we  have  patience  to  wait.  I am  very  young  ; 
I can  afford  to  spend  many  years  in  preparing  myself 
for  the  ordeal  that  I kuow  will  come.  It  is  well  I 
stopped  here,  for  I meant  to  have  gone  to  Philadelphia 
to  find  you,  and  see  what  sort  of  rival  Walter  had  giv- 
26 


118  the  clandestine  marriage. 


eii  me.  Miss  Digby  would  not  tell  me  your  name,  nor 
where  you  were  to  be  found,  but  I wiled  both  out  of 
Barbara.  I am  afraid  that  my  head  is  a little  flighty 
yet,  for  I have  been  ill,  too — ^yes,  very,  very  ill.  I 
liardly  think  such  a wretch  as  Walter  Thorne  worth 
the  suffering  he  has  caused  to  you  and  me.  He  t^^ill 
reclaim  you^  and  torture  you  at  his  leisure  ; but  take 
this  comfort  to  your  heart,  when  my  turn  comes,  I will 
pay  him  back  for  all  he  will  inflict  on  you.  My  heart 
he  can  never  again  wring  with  anguish,  but  I shall  find 
means  to  reach  the  very  core  of  his,  and  inflict  on  it 
such  pangs  as  he  dreams  not  of  in  these  gay,  and  care- 
less days.  He  thinks  now  only  of  himself  and  his  own 
enjoyments ; the  time  shall  come,  when  he  shall  only 
realize  life  through  the  suffering  it  brings.  But  I must 
bid  you  adieu  ; the  coach  will  soon  pass,  and  I must 
be  ready  to  take  my  place  in  it.  I only  tarried  here  to 
satisfy  myself  of  what  you  are  to  Walter  Thorne.” 

Before  Agnes  could  repl}’'  she  flitted  from  the  room, 
and  soon  afterward  the  sound  of  the  stage  horn,  wind- 
ing in  the  distance  was  l\eard.  The  coach  stopped  but 
for  a few  moments,  and  Agnes  was  glad  that  her  strange 
visitor  was  gone.  She  lay  dreamily  thinking  over  the 
singular  interview  which  had  just  taken  place,  till  the 
landlady  came  in  bringing  a cup  of  nourishment  in  her 
hand.  She  saw  the  new  light  in  the  eyes  of  her 
patient,  and  briskly  said : 

‘‘You  area  deal  better  to-day,  ma’am  ; but  you’ve 
been  lying  in  a strange  state  for  the  last  six  weeks. 
It  seemed  to  me  a sort  of  trance,  and  I had  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  you  to  take  nourishment  enough  to 
keep  you  alive.  Sometimes  you’d  get  excited,  and 
^alk  about  some  man  you  called  Walter,  but  most  o’ 


^ THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  419 

the  time  3^011  lay  quiet  enough.  Drink  tliis,  ma’am,  and 
jT)u’ll  soon  come  ’round  now.” 

Agnes  mechanically  obej^ed,  and  soon  after  fell  into 
a natural  and  refreshing  slumber ; from  that  daj"  her 
recovery  Avas  slow,  but  certain.  The  interview  be- 
tween herself  and  Claire  had  given  the  fillip  her  men- 
tal faculties  needed,  for  her  illlness  had  been  more  of 
the  mind  than  the  body.  But  for  the  long  torpor  in 
which  her  senses  had  been  locked,  Agnes  always  be- 
lieved that  she  must  have  lost  her  reason  ; she  suffered 
3^et,  but  not  so  keenly  as  in  those  first  days  of  anguish, 
and  a cold  sense  of  wrong  had  usurped  the  place  of  the 
tender  trust  she  had  once  placed  in  Walter  Thorne’s 
native  nobleness  of  character. 

She  Avas  at  length  able  to  sit  up  beside  the  window 
of  her  room,  Avhich  looked  toAvard  the  road.  Day  after 
day  she  vaguely  watched  the  passers  by,  hoping  and 
believing  that  one  familiar  form  must  appear  upon  it, 
coming  in  search  of  herself.  By  this  time  her  hus- 
band must  surely  have  become  aAvare  of  her  departure 

from  Philadelphia,  and  followed  her  to  L . Col. 

Thorne  himself  must  have  become  uneasy  at  not  hearing 
from  her,  and  inquiries  must  soon  be  made  for  her.  II 
the}^  Avere  not,  Agnes  had  half  determined  to  evade 
them  all,  and  conceal  herself  for  ever  from  the  mau 
who  had  so  heartlessly  treated  her. 

Thinldng  thus  one  bright  morning  toward  the  end 
of  Aj^ril,  she  sat  Avith  dreary  eyes  looking  out  upon  the 
sunny  landscape,  at  times  wondering  AA^hy  a broken 
life  could  never  revive  again,  as  nature  does,  putting 
forth  neAv  blossoms,  and  concealing  old  wounds. 

The  house  stood  back  from  the  road  with  a yard  in 
front,  filled  Avith  grass  and  fruit  trees,  and  those  who 


420  the  clandestine  marriage. 

came  to  it,  could  only  be  seen  when  they  entered  the 
enclosure.  The  day  was  unusually  warm  for  the  sea- 
son, and  the  window  was  open  which  looked  toward 
the  gate.  Agnes,  wrapped  in  a shawl,  sat  beside  it, 
listlessly,  dreaming  sweet  and  bitter  fancies,  when  the 
«ound  of  a familiar  voice  below  made  her  stagnant 
blood  leap  in  her  veins.  It  said : 

‘‘We  have  been  baffled  thus  far,  but  we  may  have 
better  luck  here.  Let  us  go  in  and  inquire.” 

The  latch  clicked,  and  a gray-haired  man  of  stately 
bearing,  came  up  the  brick  walk  leading  to  the  house, 
followed  by  a younger  one.  The  landlord  was  sitting 
before  the  door,  smoking,  and  after  the  usual  saluta- 
tions Agnes  heard  Col.  Thorne  say : 

“We  have  called  here,  sir,  to  inquire  if  a young 
friend  of  ours  has  been  detained  by  accident  or  illness 
in  this  house  ? A lady,  traveling  alone,  set  out  on  this 
road  two  months  ago,  and  she  has  not  been  heard  from 
since.  Is  such  a person  here  ? ” 

Mr  Jones  removed  his  pipe,  and  leisurely  replied  : 

“ Oh — ah — so  you’ve  got  message  about  her  at  last, 
have  you  ? Me  and  my  old  woman  has  been  wonder- 
ing if  nobody  belonged  to  a young  critter  like  that, 
that  would  be  coming  to  ask  after  her.  There  is  a un- 
common pretty  young  gal  up  stairs,  that  has  been  in  a 
dazed  kind  o’  way,  but  we  took  good  care  on  her,  and 
she’s  coming  round  again,  and  will  soon  be  chirk  enough 
I guess.” 

“ It  must  be  Agnes ! ” exclaimed  Col.  Thorne,  “ I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  this  lady,  if  she  will  receive  me. 
Take  up  this  card  if  you  please,  and  inquire  if  she 
will  grant  a few  moments  conversation  to  the  person 
who  sent  it.” 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  421 


Be  you  her  father  ? ” asked  Mr.  Jones,  bluntly  ; 
‘‘  and  this  youngster,  mebbe,  is  her  brother  ? ’’ 

I am  her  father-m-Zaz4^,  and  this  young  gentleman 
is  her  husband,  provided  your  guest  is  the  person  we 
are  in  search  of.” 

Pheugh  ! — then  she’s  run  away  from  him,  I sup- 
pose, or  you  would’nt  a had  to  hunt  her  up  in  this  way. 
She’s  the  right  ticket  anyhow,  for  she  told  my  old 
woman  that  her  name  is  the  same  that’s  on  this  bit  of 
pasteboard.” 

In  his  most  stately  manner  Col.  Thorne  said : 

‘^Pray  oblige  me,  sir,  by  keeping  your  suppositions 
to  yourself,  and  taking  my  message  to  the  young  per- 
son I wish  to  see.” 

Agnes  overheard  the  whole  conversation,  and  she 
B tok  back  shivering  with  dread  and  uncertain tj^  as  to 
how  the  approaching  interview  might  end.  In  spite  of 
all  she  had  gone  through,  she  yearned  to  hear  the  sound 
of  Walter  Thorne’s  voice  again;  to  behold  the  face  that 
had  so  long  been  to  her  the  dearest  on  earth.  She  de- 
spised herself  for  thus  weakly  clinging  to  the  man  who 
had  shown  himself  so  unworthy  of  the  love  she  still 
bore  him,  yet  all  her  efforts  were  powerless  to  over- 
come it. 

All  her  late  apathy  was  gone  now ; her  heart  thrilled 
and  throbbed  as  if  it  would  burst  from  her  bosom  ; her 
eyes  regained  their  brightness;  and  when  Mrs.  Jones 
came  in  to  inform  her  that  friends  were  below  who 
wished  to  see  her,  she  quickly  replied : 

‘‘  I will  see  Col.  Thorne,  I know  that  he  is  tliere, 
for  I saw  him  as  he  came  up  the  yard ; but  I wish  him 
to  come  to  me  alone.” 

The  landlady  stared  at  her  as  she  said  : 


422  the  clandestine  marriage. 


It’s  him  that  wants  to  come  up.  But  it  seems 
mighty  strange  if  the  young  one  is  your  husband,  that 
you  want  to  see  ,the  old  gentleman  first,  seeing  how 
long  you’ve  been  away  from  home.” 

Agnes  spoke  with  all  her  old  stateliness  of  manner  : 

“ You  have  been  very  kind  to  me  in  my  long  illness, 
Mrs.  Jones,  and  I feel  very  grateful  to  you  ; but  that 
does  not  give  you  the  right  to  pry  into  my  affairs.  I 
shall  be  glad  if  you  will  carry  my  message  at  once, 
and  bring  only  the  elder  gentleman  to  me.  I shall  see 
my  husband  afterward.” 

“ In  course,  ma’am  ; I did’nt  mean  nothing  to  offend 
you.  I has  took  good  care  of  you,  but  you  has  paid 
your  way  like  a lady,  I will  say  ; and  it’s  no  business 
o’  mine  to  be  meddling  in  what  don’t  concern  me  any 
way.  But  if  you,  and  your  young  man  has  quarreled 
like,  you’d  better  make  it  up  with  him.  For  man  and 
wife  to  separate  is  like  taking  the  rivit  out’n  a pair  of 
shears  ; they  aint  no  use  arterwards.  Mebbe  he’ll  go 
to  the  dogs,  and  you  won’t  be  no  better  off  for  know- 
ing that ; but  leastways  you  know  your  own  business 
best.” 

Having  given  utterance  to  this  piece  of  wisdom, 
Mrs.  Jones  hastily  retreated,  and  Agnes  with  a bitter 
smile,  muttered  : 

The  same  advice  from  two  of  my  cwn  sex  should 
surely  decide  me  to  accept  the  destiny  that  binds  me 
to  Walter  Thorne.  Alas  ! my  own  traitorous  heart 
prompts  me  to  the  same  course,  although  I am  certain 
that  the  authority  of  his  father  alone  has  brought  him 
in  search  of  me.” 

The  sound  of  approaching  steps  was  heard,  a light 
tap  came  to  her  door,  and  Col.  Thorne,  looking 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  423 

harassed,  and  worn,  came  into  the  room.  His  stern 
face  lighted  up  as  his  eyes  fell  on  Agnes,  and  hasten- 
ing toward  her  he  clasped  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  as 
he  said  : 

“You  have  suffered  much,  my  dear  child,  and  we 
have  been  very  uneasy  about  you  since  we  learned 
your  departure  from  Philadelphia.  Till  lately,  I 
thought  you  were  in  New  York  with  Walter,  or  you 
would  not  have  been  left  so  long  unsought.  I heard 
frorn  him  regularly,  and  although  your  name  was 
briefly  mentioned,  he  gave  me  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  had  actually  left  you  alone  in  a strange  city  so 
soon  after  your  union.” 

While  speaking,  he  gently  replaced  her  in  her  chair, 
and  drew  forward  another  for  himself  in  such  a posi- 
tion that  he  could  see  her  face  perfectly,  without  hav- 
ing the  glare  of  light  from  the  window  thrown  upon 
his  own. 

“ Then  you  do  not  think  I was  wrong  to  try  and 
get  to  you,  that  I might  be  guided  by  your  advice  ? ” 
she  tremulously  asked. 

“ No,  my  dear  daughter ; I place  the  blame  where 
it  is  due,  upon  Walter’s  shoulders  and  mine  own.  I 
should  not  have  insisted  on  an  immediate  marriage  be- 
tween you.  That  scandalous  affair  in  which  he  was 
implicated,  should  have  had  time  to  die  away — you 
should  have  had  time  to  forgive,  and  forget  it;  3^ou 
would  have  done  it,  for  I am  sure  that  in  his  heart 
Walter  prefers  you  to  the  unformed  creature  he  be- 
came so  fascinated  with  for  a season.  He  is  now  most 
anxious  for  a reconciliation,  and  willing  to  atone  in 
eveiy  possible  manner  for  his  late  desertion.” 

“ Oh,  Col.  Thorne,”  asked  Agnes  with  emotion,  “do 


424  tre  clandestine  marriage. 

you  think  you  treated  lue  well  in  keeping  the  incon- 
stancy of  your  son  concealed  from  me  ? You  should 
yourself  have  stated  the  whole  case  to  me,  and  given 
me  the  option  of  breaking  forever  with  Walter,  or  re- 
ceiving him  again  with  favor.  You  kept  me  in  the 
dark,  and  see  what  has  come  of  it.” 

‘‘Well,  my  dear,  what  has  come  of  it,  but  Avhat  I 
anticipated  ? ” he  asked,  in  his  silkiest  manner.  “ Few 
married  couples  settle  down  without  clearing  the  do- 
mestic atmosphere  by  a rousing  quarrel  or  two.  You 
had  good  cause  to  give  Walter  a good  rating,  and  I am 
glad  you  had  the  spirit  to  do  it.*  He  will  have  a 
wholesome  dread  of  your  sharpness  from  this  time  for- 
ward ; after  a fight,  a truce,  you  know,  and  you  will 
keep  the  peace  toward  each  other  more  scrupulously 
than  if  this  flare  up  llad  not  occurred.” 

“ But — but.  Col.  Thorne,  I have  been  so  grievously 
wronged,  and  insulted,  that — that  I really  think  your 
son  and  myself  had  better  agree  to  live  apart.  I am 
sure  that  we  shall  not  keep  the  peace,  as  you  express 
it.  for  neither  he  nor  I are  angels  of  forbearance.” 

“ My  dear  Agnes,  that  may  be  true  enough,  but 
what  you  propose  is  out  of  the  question.  It  is  not 
respectable  for  married  people  to  live  apart ; besides, 
you  should  have  some  consideration  for  me.  Here  am 
I,  a forlorn  old  man,  who  has  been  looking  forward  to 
the,  time  when  I should  have  a pleasant  companion  in 
the  person  of  a certain  young  lady  for  whom  I have  a 
strong  attachment,  and  now  she  cooll}^  threatens  to 
throw  both  father  and  husband  overboard,  and  go, 
Heaven  knows  where,  herself!  My  dear  daughter,  I 
cannot  consent  to  give  you  up.  Come  liome  witli  me 
and  give  Walter  tlie  o[ipoi‘lunity  to  win  back  the  love. 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  425 


you  once  felt  for  him.  You  have  both  been  in  the 
wrong.  You  were  too  bitter  and  he  too  resentful ; but 
with  myself  for  mediator  between  you,  I do  not  de- 
spair of  yet  bringing  about  a good  understanding.” 

‘‘  You  are  too  sanguine,  I am  afraid,”  she  gloomily 
replied.  ‘‘  Walter  cares  nothing  for  me  or  he  would 
never  have  gone  away  from  me^as  he  did.  It  is  four 
months  since  we  met,  and  we  had  not  lived  together  as 
many  weeks.  He  went  to  seek  amusement  in  a gay 
crowd,  leaving  me  to  wear  my  heart  out  in  lonely 
struggles  and  vain  regrets.  So  lately  bereaved  of  my 
father,  he  was  hard  , enough  to  inflict  on  me  the  an- 
guish of  finding  myself  a forsaken  wife.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  I can  ever  forget  that?  No — with  our  past, 
it  is  better  to  be  sundered  as  widely  as  the  poles.  I 
will  go  with  you  to  Thornhill,  if  you  wish  it,  but 
Walter  had  better  return  to  the  society  of  the  gay 
companions  for  which  he  left  me.” 

But,  Agnes,  you  must  remember  that  you  spoke 
very  harshly  to  your  husband,  and  he  has  not  a for- 
bearing temper  any  more  than  yourself.  I ask  this 
grace  for  my  son.  Let  him  make  the  effort  to  win 
your  forgiveness  ; I am  sure  that  your  heart  is  not 
closed  to  him,  and  when  you  see  him  daily  you  will 
relent,  and  remain  at  Thornhill,  not  only  as  my  daugh- 
ter, but  as  Walter’s  honored  and  cherished  wife.” 

‘‘Did  he  wish  this  himself?  Did  he  send  you  to 
me  as  his  ambassador,  in  the  hope  that  a reunion  might 
be  effected  ? ” 

“ He  did.  Walter  has  told  you  himself  that  he  re-  ' 
fuses  to  grant  the  separation  you  demanded  in  a mo- 
ment of  passion.  He  thinks,  as  I do,  that  Avhen  you 
have  seen  how  deeply  he  regrets  the  misunderstanding 


426  the  clandestine  marriage. 


that  severed  you,  your  heart  must  return  to  its  old  ah 
legiance.” 

‘‘  And  Ms  heart,”  she  bitterly  asked,  “ what  of  that? 
Does  it  still  cling  to — to  the  girl  he  preferred  to  me  ? ” 
That  folly  has  been  repented  of,  and  should  be  no 
more  referred  to.  The  girl  will  never  cross  your  path, 
be  assured  of  that.  3he  has  already  gone  back  to  her 
friends.  That  chapter  in  my  son’s  life  is  closed  for- 
ever, so  set  your  jealous  fears  at  rest.” 

Agnes  thought  of  the  sad,  young  face  that  had  bent 
over  her  couch  two  weeks  before,  and  sighed  ; but  she 
said  nothing  of  the  singular  meeting  Claire  had  sought, 
nor  of  the  threats  she  had  uttered.  She  considered 
her  temporarily  deranged,  and  gave  little  weight  to 
them.  In  truth  she  was  too  wretched  herself,  to  give 
much  thought  to  the  sufferings  of  another. 

She  sat  silent  so  long  that  Col.  Thorne,  who  was 
attentively  regarding  her  face,  at  length  asked : 

‘‘  Do  you  require  time  to  make  up  your  mind  to  re- 
ceive the  repentant  prodigal,  m}^  daughter  ? ” I will 
not  doubt  the  result ; for  such  love  as  you  have  felt 
for  Walter  is  not  easily  cast  aside  ; yours  must  brighten 
with  life  again,  when  he  asks  you  to  restore  it  to  him 
as  the  most  precious  boon  that  can  be  accorded  him.” 

A faint  tinge  of  color  came  for  the  first  time  since 
her  illness  into  her  marble  face,  and  with  a sigh  she 
said : 

‘‘  If  I could  only  believe  that,  I — I might  relent,  for 
my  own  heart  plays  the  traitor  to  me,  and  prompts  me 
to  the  course  you  urge  ; though  alas  ! I feel  the  convic- 
tion that  happiness  can  never  spring  from  the  re-union 
of  your  son  and  myself.” 

‘‘Let  us,  at  least,  make  another  trial,  Agnes,”  said  ( 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  427 


voice  that  thrilled  through  every  pulse  of  her  being. 
With  a start  she  raised  her  head  to  find  her  husband 
standing  beside  her,  with  arms  opened  to  enfold  her 
in  his  embrace.” 

Acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  Agnes  sprang 
up,  it  seemed  to  her,  without  any  volition  of  her  own, 
and  fell,  weak  and  trembling,  upon  his  breast.  While 
she  wept  convulsively,  Thorne  caressed  her  tenderly 
and  whispered : 

‘‘  Forgive  me,  Agnes,  and  take^  me  back  to  your 
heart.  I will  try  to  make  you  contented  at  least. 
There  is  nothing  left  for  either  of  us  now  but  to  make 
the  best  of  the  fate  we  have  embraced.  Our  lot  may 
not  be  a cloudless  one,  but  at  least  we  can  try  to  live 
together  in  unity  and  peace.” 

She  raised  her  head  and  said  : 

After  such  a demonstration  as  this,  I have  no  right 
to  refuse.  I am  weak  as  water  where  you  are  con- 
cerned, Walter,  and  I concede  to  you  what  I lately 
deemed  impossible.  You  may  break  my  heart  as  has 
been  foretold,  but  it  must  cling  to  you  or  perish.” 

Col.  Thorne  softly  left  the  room,  and  with  a sense 
of  triumph  Walter  felt  that  his  battle  was  won.  Whe- 
ther he  would  come  off  conqueror  in  those  that  still 
remained  to  be  fought,  the  future  alone  could  deter- 
mine. He  glossed  over  his  abrupt  departure  and  pro- 
longed silence  as  well  as  was  possible,  and  Agnes,  wil- 
ling to  be  deceived,  listened  to  his  excuses  and  tried  to 
believe  them. 

Thorne  did  not  tell  her  that  his  father  almost  forced 
him  to  join  in  the  search  for  her  ; that  motives  of  self- 
interest  swayed  him  ; for  Col.  Thorne  held  the  mort- 
gage on  Willow  Glen,  and  upon  it  had  been  discovered 


428  the  clandestine  makkiagb. 


a coal  mine  that  was  found  to  be  very  valuable.  The 
old  man  had  closed  the  mortgage,  taken  possession  of 
the  property,  and  offered  it  to  his  son  as  the  price  of  a 
perfect  reconciliation  with  his  wife. 

Agnes  was  strong  enough  to  travel,  and  preparations 
for  an  immediate  departure  were  made.  Col.  Thorne 
and  his  son  had  their  own  carriage,  and  the  pale  in- 
valid well  wrapped  up,  was  tenderly  placed  on  the  back 
seat,  after  taking  a kind  leave  of  Mrs.  Jones,  whose 
broad  face  beamed  with  satisfaction  at  the  result  of 
the  interview  between  the  estranged  husband  and 
wife. 

She  leaned  into  the  carriage  and  oracularly  said ; 

“ It’s  all  for  the  best,  ma’am.  If  a married  woman 
can’t  find  happiness  with  her  good  man,  she  aint 
likely  to  find  it  anywhere  else  in  this  vale  of  tears.” 

I believe  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Jones,  and  therefore 
I return  to  my  duty  as  a wife,  and  I shall  neyer  for- 
get how  good  you  were  to  me,  and  I hope  you  will  re- 
member me  kindly.” 

‘‘No  fear  about  that,  ma’am.  I shall  not  forget 
how  patient  you’ve  been,  nor  how  liberal  with  your 
money.  I’m  paid  three  times  over  what  I did  for  you. 
Keep  a stout  heart,  and  you  and  your  handsome  hus- 
band will  get  along  as  well  as  most  married  folks  do.” 

They  shook  hands  cordially,  the  gentlemen  took 
their  places  on  the  front  seat,  and  Walter  took  the 
reins. 

It  was  a bright  and  balmy  day,  and  Agnes  felt  new 
life  and  hope  revive  within  her  with  every  passing  hour. 
On  the  following  evening  they  arrived  at  Thornhill, 
over  which  she  was  enstalled  as  mistress,  and  for  a few 
weeks  all  went  on  smoothly  enough.  Her  father-in- 


THE  MEETING  OF  CLAIRE  AND  AGNES.  429 

law 's  stay  with  them  was  brief,  for  he  had  already  been 
inaugurated  as  governor  of  the  State,  and  could  not 
linger  long  in  his  old  home. 

As  long  as  Col.  Thorne  remained,  the  conduct  of 
Walter  toward  his  wife  was  kind  and  considerate,  but 
as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone,  he  showed  the  utmost 
indifference  to  her,  at  times  verging  almost  on  con- 
tempt ; for  Thorne  could  not  deny  himself  the  pleas- 
ure of  proving  to  his  wife  that  he  had  not  forgotten 
her  bitter  words,  and  did  not  intend  to  forgive  them. 

He  considered  himself  w^ronged  of  his  freedom,  and 
despised  Agnes  for  the  very  love  that  brought  her  back 
to  his  arms.  When  a daughter  was  given  to  them,  he 
showed  no  fondness  for  the  child,  and  the  link  that 
should  have  bound  them  more  closely  together,  became 
an  additional  cause  of  bitterness  and  discord. 

Agnes,  with  all  her  natural  pride,  and  fire,  resented 
not  only  the  treatment  she  received  at  her  husband’s 
hands,  but  the  utter  indifference  he  manifested  to  her 
helpless  little  one,  because  it  was  tier  child. 

She  looked  forward  to  a long  visit  to  Harrisburg  as 
an  agreeable  change  in  the  unhappy  life  they  led  to- 
gether, but  fate  denied  her  even  that.  A sudden,  and 
brief  illness  deprived  her  of  the  best  friend  she  had, 
^ in  the  person  of  the  ambitious  Governor,  and  Thorne 
i)ecame  the  undisputed  possessor  of  his  father’s  wealth, 
and  the  ruthless  master  of  her  life. 

Agnes  would  not  leave  him  now,  for  she  would  never 
be  separated  from  her  child,  and  she  knew  that  little 
as  Thorne  cared  for  her  darling  May,  he  would  never 
permit  her  to  be  removed  from  beneath  his  roof. 

So  the  years  passed  on — she  had  her  nursery — her 
husband,  his  studio,  and  they  never  sought  each  other 
in  confidence,  or  affection. 


430  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE. 


Vv^hen  the  tedium  of  his  home  became  too  oppress! ve^ 
Walter  Thorne  left  it  for  weeks,  or  months,  as  the 
wliim  seized  him,  and  his  wife  soon  learned  to  consider 
these  seasons  of  absence  the  only  quiet  and  peaceful 
ones  she  enjoyed.  She  had  but  one  friend.  Ada  Dig- 
by  pitied  the  terrible  mistake  both  had  made,  but  her 
sympathies  were  given  to  the  woman  whose  fate  had 
been  wrecked  through  her  unappreciated  affection  for 
a hard  and  ungrateful  man. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

CLAIR  E’S  return. 

ON  a warm  evening  in  April,  Mrs.  Courtnay  was  sit- 
ting in  her  own  room,  looking  over  papers,  and  ar-  * 
ranging  them  before  going  on  the  long  journey  that  lay 
before  her. 

The  preparations  for  embarking  in  the  early  part  of 
May  were  nearly  completed.  Her  son  was  at  home^ 
but  he  was  restless  and  unhappy,  and  she  feared  the 
disappointment  he  had  met  would  exert  an  unfavorable 
effect  upon  his  future  life.  On  Andrew’s  return  to  the 
fir  range,  his  first  inquiry  was  after  Claire,  and  when 
told  that  she  had  not  been  heard  from,  he  declared  that 
he  would  go  in  pursuit  of  the  man  who  had  stolen  her 
away,  and  if  he  had  wronged  her  in  any  manner,  he 
would  exact  a fearful  expiation  from  him. 

His  mother  used  all  her  influence  to  detain  him  near 
her,  and  finally  extorted  from  him  a promise  that  he 
would  wait  till  within  two  weeks  of  the  time  appointed 
for  their  embarkation  before  seeking  Claire.  Then,  if 


CLAIRE’S  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY.  43) 

no  news  from  her  came,  he  might  make  inquiries  in 
person,  and  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  fate  she  had  met. 

As  the  days  and  weeks  passed  on,  bringing  no  letters 
from  Claire,  Mrs.  Courtnay  also  became  very  anxious 
to  ascertain  something  of  her  god -child,  and  she  felt 
as  unwilling  as  Andrew  to  go  so  far  away  without  sat- 
isfying herself  as  to  her  actual  condition. 

The  last  evening  of  the  stipulated  time  arrived  ; her 
son  had  gone  over  to  the  post-office  himself,  and  she 
was  anxiously  listening  for  his  return  in  the  hope  that 
he  would  bring  a letter  for  her  from  the  absent  one. 

At  length  she  heard  his  step  upon  the  piazza,  and 
laying  down  the  paper  she  had  been  looking  over,  she 
glanced  eagerly  toward  the  door.  Andrew  came  in, 
frowning  heavily  and  throwing  his  riding- whip  upon  the 
floor,  angrily  said  : 

‘‘  It  is  the  last  day  of  grace,  and  there  is  nothing  for 
you.  Not  a line — not  a word  to  the  friends  who  would 
have  stood  by  her  through  everything.  Claire  is  not 
ungrateful — I maintain  that,  though  she  did  elope  from 
your  protection  ; and  if  she  had  an3^thing  good  to  tell, 
she  would  have  written  long  ago.  I know  that  the 
wretch  she  trusted  has  blasted  her  life,  or  broken  her 
heart.  For  either  he  shall  dearly  pay,  I swear  it.  I 
will  go  in  pursuit  of  him  to-morrow  ; it  is  now  more 
than  six  months  since  she  left  the  Grange,  and  it  is 
high  time  that  somebody  interested  in  her  fate  should 
be  looking  after  her.  I can  act  the  part  of  her  brother, 
if  a nearer  and  dearer  relationship  was  denied  me.”  . 

His  mother  reluctantly  replied : 

I suppose  that  no  other  course  is  now  left.  I am 
very  anxious  about  the  poor  girl  myself ; but,  Andrew, 
I am  afraid  that  sending  such  a fire-brand  as  you  in 


432  the  clandestine  marriage. 

pursuit  of  her,  is  not  the  wisest  plan  I could  adopt.  1 

think  it  Avill  be  best  for  us  to  travel  together  to  L , 

and  if  Claire  has  been  badly  treated,  I can  stand  her 
friend  better  than  you.  We  can  go  on  from  there  to 
New  York  in  time  to  embark  on  the  India.  She  sails 
on  the  eleventh  of  May,  and  we  have  ample  time  to 
discover  what  has  become  of  my  poor  child.” 

Suppose  he  has  murdered  her,”  said  Andrew,  with 
dilating  eyes.  ‘‘  I have  read  of  such  things,  and  her 
incomprehensible  silence  gives  us  license  to  think  the 
worst.  Such  an  unmitigated  scoundrel  as  I believe 
this  Thorne  to  be,  would  he  capable  of  anything.” 

‘‘  Yes — anything  short  of  murder,”  said  a voice  that 
startled  both  mother  and  son.  Andrew  started  from 
the  seat  on  which  be  had  thrown  himself,  and  rushed 
toward  the  open  door. 

There,  standing  in  the  shadow,  was  the  worn  and 
weary  phantom  of  the  bright  sylph  who  had  fled  from 
the  shelter  of  that  roof  a few  brief  months  before.  The 
light  of  childhood  had  faded  from  her  brow,  its  smiles 
from  her  lips,  and  she  appeared  ten  years  older  than 
when  they  had  looked  upon  her. 

Claire  came  forward  with  languid  steps,  knelt  before 
Mrs.  Courtnay,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  dress,  in  a 
voice  sharpened  by  anguish,  cried  out : 

‘‘  I have  come  back,  desolate  and  broken  hearted,  to 
the  sole  friend  I can  claim  on  earth,  and  if  you  refuse 
to  receive  me,  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  die. 
Oh,  mamma  ! I am  the  most  wretched  of  women  ! ” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  lifted  her  in  her  arms,  caressed  her 
tenderly,  and  wept  some  bitter  tears  over  her.  She 
softly  said : 

“ You  were  riglit  to  come  to  me  in  your  trouble, 


CLAIRE’S  RETURN  TO  THE  V'ALLEY.  433 


Claire,  and  the  promise  I made  your  father  shall  be 
sacredly  fulfilled.  But  where  is  your  husband  ? Why 
are  you  alone  ? and  how  is  it  that  I have  not  been  kept 
informed  of  what  happened  to  you  ? ” 

‘‘  I had  nothing  good  to  tell  you — nothing  save  hu- 
miliation and  anguish  worse  than  death.  Look  at  my 
face,  my  hands,  do  they  not  show  you  that  I have 
struggled  with  illness  that  brought  me  almost  to  the 
verge  of  the  grave  ? The  man  for  whom  I forsook  you, 
cast  me  off,  he  broke  the  feeble  link  that  bound  him 
to  me,  and  gave  his  hand  to  another  girl  to  whom  he 
had  been  betrothed  before  he  came  hither.  His  father, 
a hard,  stern  man,  refused  to  acknowledge  the  penni- 
less bride  Walter  had  found  for  himself,  and  I was 
ignominiously  turned  from  his  house.  Had  my  hus- 
band been  true  to  me,  he  would  have  been  disinherited. 
He  weighed  me  in  the  balance  against  his  father’s 
gold,  and  that  preponderated.” 

u Wretch  ! ” exclaimed  Andrew,  through  his  closed 
teeth.  ‘‘  How  dared  he  wreck  the  life  he  had  prom- 
ised to  cherish  and  make  happy  ? Claire,  you  shall  be 
avenged.  The  coward  thought  you  had  no  friend  to 
stand  by  you,  but  I,  boy  as  I am,  I will  bring  him  to 
an  account  for  his  baseness  ! ” 

She  turned  toward  him  with  an  expression  of  dreary 
calmness,  and  said : 

“ No,  Andrew,  that  must  not  be.  I thank  you  for 
the  interest  you  manifest  in  my  fate,  but  it  is  settled 
now,  and  a duel  with  Mr.  Thorne  could  not  do  me  any 
good.  The  day  will  come — shall  come,  in  which  I Avill 
repay  him  with  interest,  for  every  pang  he  has  made 
me  suffer.  I can  live  on  till  that  time  arrives,  prepar 
ing  myself  for  the  part  I shall  have  to  play.” 

‘ 27  , 


434  the  clandestine  makriage. 

‘‘  I consent  on  one  condition,”  replied  Andrew, 
gloomily  : ‘‘  and  that  is,  that  I shall  be  permitted  to 
aid  you  in  bringing  retribution  to  this  man  who  has  so 
irreparably  injured  5"Ou.” 

Claire  paused  a moment,  and  then  said : 

Perhaps  I may  need  you — if  so,  I will  call  on 
you.” 

Oh,  my  children,  what  compact  is  that  you  are 
making  ? ” cried  Mrs.  Courtnay  in  alarm.  ‘‘  Forgive, 
as  you  hope  to  be  forgiven,  is  the  Christian  law,  and 
you  both  must  learn  to  abide  by  it.” 

Claire  turned  from  Andrew,  and  in  tones  of  pathetic 
entreat}^  said  : 

Oh,  mamma,  take  me  in  your  arms  again ; let  me 
feel  that  I have  a shelter  on  the  tender  heart  that 
watched  over  my  childhood,  and  softer  feelings' may 
come  to  me.  I treated  you  very  badly,  but  I have 
been  bitterly  punished — how  bitterly,  God  and  my  own 
heart  alone  know.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  again  clasped  her  to  her  breast,  and 
tenderly  said : 

‘‘  I forgive  you,  my  child.  I receive  you  back  as  a 
gift  from  Heaven,  for  I have  sadly  missed  you.  We 
will  go  far  from  this  country  ; in  new  scenes,  you  shall 
forget  this  sad  episode  in  your  life,  and  yet  be  happy.” 

Claire  shivered,  and  mournfully  replied  : 

That  is  a word  that  henceforth  has  no  meaning  for 
me.  But  I can  live  on  without  it,  cherishing  the  pur- 
pose that  has  given  me  courage  to  face  the  desolation 
of  mj^  lot.  Oh,  mamma,  I am  no  longer  the  bright, 
pure  spirit  I once  was.  Fallen — fallen  is  my  nature, 
and  I can  make  no  effort  to  exorcise  the  demon  which 
ever  whispers  that  vengeance  on  that  false  man  may 
yet  be  minc^” 


CLAIRE’S  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY.  436 


Husli,  hush,  my  dear  Claire  ; this  is  madness.  In 
time,  your  mind  will  regain  its  true  tone,  and  with  a 
return  of  tranquillity,  the  evil  promptings  will  cease. 
No  man,  and  still  less  woman,  should  arrogate  the 
right  of  Deity  to  punish  wrong.  Quiet  your  agita- 
tion, and  try  and  tell  me  all  that  has  happened  to  you 
since  we  parted.” 

Claire  sat  down  beside  her  friend,  shook  aside  the 
short  curls  with  which  her  head  was  covered,  and  af- 
ter a pause  to  collect  her  thoughts,  commenced  from 
the  night  of  the  flight  from  the  Grange,  and  told  all 
she  could  remember  of  her  painful  experience.  She 
ended  by  saying : 

I should  have  come  back  to  you  as  soon  as  I was 
strong  enough  to  travel,  but  the  kind  friend  who  re- 
ceived me,  would  not  permit  me  to  leave  her  house 
while  the  winter  lasted.  She  wished  me  to  remain 
wdth  her  altogether,  but  that  was  impossible.  Only 
with  the  friend  of  my  childhood,  could  I hope  for 
peace.  I left  Miss  Digby’s  house  at  last,  without  her 
knowledge,  for  she  always  had  some  excuse  for  detain- 
ing me,  and  I feared  you  would  be  gone,  if  I tarried 
longer  witli  her.  On  the  way  hither,  I stopped  at  a 
country  tavern,  because  I was  too  weak  to  travel 
through  the  night.  I there  found  my  rival,  deserted 
like  myself,  in  the  first  weeks  of  her  marriage.  Wal- 
ter Thorne  obeyed  his  father’s  commands  to  the  letter, 
but  broke  them  in  the  spirit,  for  his  last  wife  was 

traveling  alone  to  L , when  she  fell  ill  on  the  way, 

and  he  was,  Heaven  knows  where,  amusing  himself. 
I saw  her,  spoke  with  her,  and  I pitied  her,  for  she 
loves  him,  and  he,  in  spite  of  his  conduct  to  me,  I 
know  he  loves 


436  the  clandestine  marriage. 

My  dear  Claire,  rid  yourself  of  that  idea,  for  Mr. 
Thorne  loves  no  one  but  himself.  Without  remorse  he 
has  sacrificed  both  you  and  her,  but  you  are  more  fortu- 
nate than  she  is,  you  are  freed  from  him.  Do  not 
delude  yourself  with  the  belief  that  this  man  ever 
truly  loved  you.” 

Claire  almost  passionately  cried  : 

It  is  no  delusion  ! He  made  one  little  month  of 
mj  life  a dream  of  Heaven  ! He  is  hard,  unprinci- 
pled, and  as  you  say,  supremely  selfish,  but  such  heart 
as  he  has,  is  mine — all  mine,  and  on  that  certainty  I 
base  my  hopes  of  retribution.  I will  not  give  it  up, 
for  it  is  all  I have  to  live*  for.  Take  that  hope  from 
me,  and  I shall  perish.” 

Her  eyes  flashed,  her  pale  cheeks  flushed,  and  Mrs. 
Courtnay  soothinglj^  said  : 

“We  will  not  speak  any  more  of  that  at  present. 
Finish  your  recital,  my  dear  ; who  brought  you  hither 
to-night,  and  how  came  Andrew  to  miss  you,  for  he 
has  just  returned  from  the  post-office.” 

“ I came  in  the  coach  to  S and  walked  on  here  ; 

I saw  Andrew  as  he  passed  thi'ough  the  woodland,  but 
I concealed  myself,  as  I wished  to  meet  3fou  before 
speaking  with  him.” 

“ You  came  alone  four  miles  through  the  forest,  and 
at  night  too  ! You  who  were  once  afraid  to  go  through 
the  house  after  dark.” 

“ It  is  my  lot  to  go  2^.'  ,.ne  now.  I know  that  hence- 
forth I must  suffice  to  myself.  I was  not  afraid  in  the 
woodland,  because  I felt  that  there  the  great  spirit  of 
nature  was  around  me  as  a protecting  presence.  Houses 
are  sometimes  haunted  by  evil  spirits,  but  forests  never 
that  I have  heard  of.  The  only  phantoms  that  crossed 


CLAIRE’S  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY.  437 

my  path  to-night,  were  the  memories  of  that  fatal  one 
in  which  I left  the  safe  shelter  of  this  roof,  and  went 
forth  with  one  unworthy  of  belief  or  trust.  Oh  mam- 
ma ! you  are  very  good  to  take  me  back  again,  but  I 
hope  that  I shall  not  long  be  a burden  to  you.’’ 

Mrs.  Courtnay  regarded  her  with  surprise. 

What  can  you  mean,  Claire  ? I hope  you  are  not 
already  maturing  another  plan  to  desert  me  ? ” 

If  I am,  it  is  not  to  return  to  my  recreant  husband, 
for  he  is  my  husband,  in  spite  of  the  decree  that 
annulled  our  union.  Our  church  does  not  sanction 
divorce,  and  I am  Walter’s  lawful  wife,  though  that 
other  poor  victim  will  bear  all  his  harshness  and  in- 
difference in  the  belief  that  it  is  her  duty  to  do  so. 
Let  me  tell  you  my  plans,  mamma,  and  I am  sure  that 
you  will  sanction  them.  You  are  aware  that  my  father 
left  a son  in  France,  who  is  a middle-aged  man  now. 
He  is  rich,  though  he  left  us  to  live  in  poverty,  but  I 
do  not  think  that  was  altogether  Armand’s  fault.  I 
shall  appeal  to  him  to  do  a brother’s  part  by  me  ; take 
me  to  France  with  you,  where  I shall  probably  find 
one  both  able  and  willing  to  provide  for  me.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  was  silent  a few  moments  ; she  then 
said,  Avitli  a glance  toward  her  son,  who  had  been  an 
eager  listener  to  this  conversation, 

‘‘  I know  something  of  your  brother,  and  we  will 
settle  about  this  at  some  future  day.  But,  is  it  possi-  ' 
ble  that  Mr.  Thorne  has  been  base  enough  to  cast  you 
oflF,  without  affording  the  means  of  living  independ- 
ently of  others,  to  one  he  has  so  irreparably  injured  ? ” 
Claire  drew  her  slight  form  up  with  a movement  of 
superb  disdain. 

‘‘  Compensation  in  money  was  offered  by  his  father, 


438  the  clandestine  marriage. 

for  Walter  has  nothing  of  his  own  ; but  I refused  it 
I would  sooner  toil  for  my  daily  bread,  than  be  in- 
debted for  it  to  the  man  who  so  cruelly  insulted  me ; 
who  sent  me  from  his  house  as  if  I had  been  a lej^er 
whose  presence  infected  its  atmosphere.  When  1 
enter  it  again,  it  will  be  to  put  my  foot  upon  the  neck 
of  him  who  permitted  me  to  be  so  ignominiously  thrust 
from  the  home  of  which  I should  now  be  mistress.” 

With  fiery  impulsiveness  Andrew  here  broke  in : 

You  were  right,  Claire,  to  refuse  his  money.  Like 
faiiy  gold,  it  Avould  have  brought  a curse  wdth  it.  But 
do  not  speak  or  think  of  ever  going  back  to  the  house 
from  which  you  were  spurned.  You  have  a better 
one  always  open  to  you,  with  true  hearts  in  it,  who  will 
do  their  best  to  render  you  at  least  contented.  Only 
let  me  do  something  for  you.  Let  me  prove  by  my 
actions  how  ready  I am  to  do  battle  in  your  cause.  I 

will  go  to  L- , find  this  man,  and  make  him  answer 

for  his  baseness.” 

Claire  turned  towards  him,  and  grasped  his  hand. 

‘‘  Dear  Andrew,  you  are  a true  cavalier,  and  I thank 
and  honor  you.  But  for  me  no  risk  must  be  run  ; no 
blood  shall  be  shed  on  my  account,  and  if  you  were  to 
seek  Walter  Thorne,  that  would  surely  follow  your 
^ meeting.  Leave  me  to  work  out  my  own  plans  ; the 
blood  I refuse  to  allow  to  flow  in  expiation  of  my 
wrongs,  shall  yet  be  wrung  from  his  heart  in  drops  of 
bitterness^  My  hand  alone  shall  strike  the  blow  that 
shall  reach  him ; you  are  but  a boy,  and  I will  never 
consent  to  embroil  you  with  the  wretch  who  has  de- 
stroyed my  youth,  and  made  my  life  -desolate.” 

Wliile  she  thus  spoke,  Claire  looked  so  wild  and 
fierce,  that  Mrs.  Courtnay  was  firmly  impressed  with 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


4S9 


the  belief  that  her  mind  had  not  entirely  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  her  desertion.  She  gently  said : 

‘‘You  need  repose,  Claire.  Come  with  me  to  your 
old  room,  no  one  has  occupied  it  since  you  went  away. 
I will  order  some  refreshments  sent  up  to  you,  before 
you  retire.” 

“ Yes — I am  very  iveary,  but  I do  not  need  food,  I 

took  supper  at  S , and  by  this  time  it  is  known 

through  the  village  that  I have  returned  alone.  It  is 
well  that  we  are  going  away,  for  I could  not  live  here 
in  the  future.  Good  night,  Andrew  ; I shall  not  for- 
get that  you  would  have  avenged  my  broken  life,  but 
that  species  of  retribution  would  not  suit  my  purpose.” 

The  ardent  youth  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him, 
and  pressed  it  so  fervently  to  his  lips,  that  she  sud- 
denly withdrew  it,  and  proudly  said  : 

“Do  not  be  too  demonstrative  to  a wedded  wife, 
Andrew.  Remember  that,  in  my  own  eyes,  I am  that, 
though  I have  permitted  my  husband  to  put  another 
in  my  place.  I am  helpless  now  to  right  myself,  but 
it  will  not  always  be  so.  Good  night.” 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CLAIREATHOME. 

CLAIRE  left  the  room  with  her  friend,  and  half  an 
hour  later,  Mrs.  Courtnay  returned  to  find  her 
son  pacing  the  floor  like  a madman.  He  turned  fiercely 
upon  her,  and  rapidly  said  : 

Claire  cannot  mean  it ; she  will  never  be  so  silly  as 


440  the  clandestine  marriage. 


to  cling  to  the  absurd  idea  of  bringing  retribution  to  a 
man  who  is  unworthy  of  a single  thought ! Oh, 
mother  ! to  have  her  back  with  us  on  any  terms,  is 
happiness  to  me.  We  must  win  her  to  forget  him,  and 
be  to  us  what  she  formerly  was.” 

If  you  ask  for  nothing  more  than  that,  my  son,  1 
think  we  may  succeed,”  replied  his  mother.  “ The 
poor  child  has  endured  more  than  the  bitterness  of 
death ; and  knowing  how  deeply  she  has  suffered,  I 
forgive  her  for  her  treatment  to  myself.  I will  do  all 
that  is  possible  to  restore  her  to  her  former  brightness 
of  heart ; but  to  you  she  can  never  be  more  than  a 
sister.” 

Why  not  ? If  I can  make  her  love  me,  I will 
marry  her,  in  spite  of  every  argument  against  it.  I am 
my  own  master — or,  at  least  I shall,  be  when  I am 
twenty-one — and  I shall  then  use  my  freedom  as  I 
choose.” 

My  dear  Andrew,  you  are  cheating  yourself  with 
a fatal  delusion.  Claire  will  never  give  up  the  wild 
hope  of  yet  compelling  Walter  Thorne  to  acknowledge 
her  before  the  world  as  his  wife.  I fully  understand 
that  from  her  strange  words.  I fear  that  her  mind  is 
warped  ; but  she  has  always  shown  singular  tenacity 
of  purpose,  and  you  nor  any  other  man  will  be  able  to 
induce  her  to  abjure  the  phantom  she  is  bent  on  pur- 
suing, and  accept  in  its  place  the  love  of  an  honest 
heart.” 

We  shall  see,”  he  moodily  replied.  If  I thought 
this  Thorne  would  be  always  in  my  path,  I would  seek 
him  out  at  once,  and  slay  him  with  m}’'  own  hand.  He 
merits  such  a fate  if  man  ever  did.” 

That  course  would  scarcely  serve  your  cause  with 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


441 


Claire/’  said  Mrs.  Courtnay  coldly.  You  seem  very 
ready  to  fasten  on  yourself  a life-long  remorse,  and 
speak  of  taking  a human  life  as  calmly  as  if  the  law  of 
God  does  not  forbid  it.  I regret  to  see  that  all  my 
teachings  have  produced  so  little  fruit.” 

‘‘  But  this  man  is  unworthy  to  live  ! It  would  be 
doing  good  service  to  mankind,  to  blot  out  from  among 
them  such  an  ingrate  as  he  has  proved  himself,”  cried 
Andrew  impetuously. 

‘‘  That  may  be,  but  it  is  not  you  who  have  the  right 
to  sit  up  in  judgment  upon  him,  and  then  proceed  to 
execute  the  sentence  you  have  yoursolf  pronounced 
against  him.  Besides,  Claire  would  never  forgive  you, 
if  you  undertook  to  redress  her  wrongs  in  that  way.” 

Andrew  angrily  exclaimed : 

Then  she  cares  for  him  still ! If  she  hates  him  as 
her  words  implied,  she  would  thank  and  reward  the 
man  who  took  up  her  cause  and  avenged  it.” 

His  mother  gently  replied : 

The  human  heart  is  difficult  of  comprehension  ; 
but,  if  T read  Claire’s  aright,  there  is  beneath  all  its 
bitterness  a delusive  hope  that  a day  of  reunion  will 
come  between  herself  and  Walter  Thorne.  That  is  the 
only  consolation  she  has  now  ; judge  then  how  little 
she  would  thank  you  for  interfering  between  them  in 
any  way.” 

‘‘  But  she  must  put  aside  so  wild  a notion ; she  must 
forget  him,  or  think  of  him  only  with  contempt  and 
aversion.  How  can  she  cling  to  a man  who  has  so 
ruthlessly  crushed  her?  Mother,  Claire  shall  yet 
turn  from  him  to  me  ; I swear  it,  and  I will  not  be 
baffled.” 

‘‘  Andrew,  you  make  the  path  before  me  a very  diffi- 


442  the  cl andestijte  marriage. 

cult  one.  You  will  force  me  to  regret  having  again 
received  Claire  under  protection.  If  you  were  not 
going  to  Heidelburg  to  remain  two  years,  I would  not 
take  her  to  Europe  with  me  at  all.  As  it  is,  when  I 
^ get  to  Paris,  I shall  either  surrender  her  at  once  to  the 
care  of  her  brother,  or  place  her  in  a pension  to  com- 
plete her  imperfect  education.” 

“ You  will  do  the  last,  mother,  for  Claire  is  your  god- 
child, and  you  are  responsible  for  her.  You  will  never 
give  her  up  to  this  brother  of  hers  till  you  know  some- 
thing of  his  character.  From  his  treatment  of  her 
father,  I should  say  that  he  is  unworthy  to  be  trusted 
with  his  sister.  Poor  Claire  seems  to  be  doubly  cursed, 
with  a worthless  husband  and  a heartless  brother.  Did 
M.  Lapierre  never  explain  to  you  how  it  was  that  he 
had  a son  in  France,  the  possessor  of  wealth,  while  he 
drudged  on  here  to  the  last,  for  the  small  sum  you  an- 
nually paid  him.” 

‘‘  He  spoke  of  him  to  me,  a few  days  before  his  death, 
and  I think  it  must  have  been  some  presentiment  of  his 
approaching  fate  that  induced  him  to  do  so.  He  Stated 
that  M.  Latour  and  himself  had  some  business  diflBcul- 
ties,  which  ended  in  an  open  rupture  : for  he  had  taken 
his  son  into  partnership  in  the  banking  house,  of  which 
he  was  the  head.” 

it  Why  do  you  call  him  Latour  ? Was  not  his  name 
the  same  as  his  father’s  ? ” 

‘‘  His  mother  was  noble,  and  he  chose  to  assume  her 
name  when  he  took  possession  of  the  estate  he  inher- 
ited from  her.  Such  things  are  of  frequent  occurrence 
in  Europe.” 

A precious  specimen  he  must  be  T Yet  you  are 
thinking  of  making  him  the  guardian  of  his  disowned 
sister.” 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME.  443 

M.  Latour  has  not  disowned  Claire,  for  I scarcely 
tliink  he  is  aware  of  her  existence.  His  father  held 
no  communication  with  him  for  many  years  before  his 
death ; and  I believe  it  even  possible  that  the  son  was 
never  informed  of  his  second  marriage.  He  told  me 
tliat  if  anything  happened  to  himself,  he  wished  me  to 
take  Claire  with  me  to  Europe,  find  her  brother,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  papers  he  left  behind  him,  estab- 
lish her  claim  to  the  sum  of  forty  thousand  francs,  with 
the  interest  that  has  accumulated  on  that  sum  in  the 
last  eighteen  years.” 

And  with  that  money  due  to  him,  M.  Lapierre 
vegetated  here,  and  never  claimed  it ! What  a queer 
old  creature  he  must  have  been ! ” 

‘‘  My  son,  do  not  speak  so  lightly  of  so  noble  and 
high-toned  a man  as  your  old  tutor  was.  I do  not  un- 
derstand the  details  of  the  case,  and  I think  M.  La- 
pierre was  a very  resentful  man,  but  he  made  it  tilear 
to  me  that  Claire  had  a just  claim  upon  her  brother, 
which  I shall  certainly  put  forward.” 

‘‘But  the  old  man  did  not  tell  you  to  give  his  daugh- 
ter up  to  the  tender  mercies  of  this  affectionate  and  du- 
tiful son  ? ” asked  Andrew,  bitterly.  “As  to  myself,  I 
would  sooner  see  Claire  thrown  into  the  arena  with 
wild  beasts  than  surrendered  to  such  a man  as  this  La- 
tour  must  be.  His  own  father  abandoned  his  native 
land  sooner  than  dwell  on  the  same  soil  with  him,  and 
I am  sure  there  must  have  existed  a bitter  and  irre- 
coiicileable  feud  between  them,  nearly  as  they  were 
related.” 

“ I have  no  wish  to  part  from  Claire  myself,  but  you 
may  render  it  necessary  for  me  to  do  so.  If  you  dread 
the  thought  of  placing  her  under  the  care  of  her  natu- 


444  the  clandestine  marriage. 


ral  protector,  you  must  put  a curb  -upon  yourself,  and 
give  me  no  cause  of  uneasiness  on  your  account.  My 
first  duty  is  to  my  own  children ; after  performing: 
that,  I will  do  the  best  I can  for  the  unfortunate  giri 
who  has  again  returned  to  me.  If  yen  are  really  he^ 
friend,  you  will  bury  this  mad  passion  in  oblivion  and 
learn  to  regard  Claire  only  as  a dear  and  cherished 
sister.” 

As  if  that  were  possible!  Preaching  is  of  no  use, 
mother — I shall  love  Claire  to  the  end,  as  I have  loved 
her  since  I could  remember  anything.  But  I will  try 
and  do  nothing  to  frighten  you  into  throwing  her  into 
the  power  of  her  brother.  I hope  that  you  will  not 
be  able  to  find  him,  nor  do  I wish  Claire  to  accept 
money  from  him.  You  are  rich  enough  to  give  her  as 
much  as  Latour  owes  her,  and  neither  Julia  nor  I 
would  object.” 

]V(rs.  Courtnay  smiled  faintly. 

I dare  say  not,  but  I have  a promise  to  fulfil  which 
was  made  to  the  dead.  M.  Latour  will  not  be  difficult 
to  find,  for  he  still  has  business  connections  in  Paris. 
He  is  not  an  acting  partner,  but  a large  portion  of  his 
fortune  is  embarked  in  the  banking-house  of  Latour  & 
Co.” 

Why,  how  did  you  find  out  all  this,  mother  ? ” 

“ I wrote  to  a friend  in  Paris  immediately  after  M. 
Lapierre’s  death,  to  ascertain  what  chance  there  is  to 
obtain  justice  for  Claire.  The  reply  came  two  months 
ago,  but  as  she  was  gone  I said  nothing  about  it.” 

''  Is  Latour  married  ? ” 

He  has  no  wife,  but  when  in  Paris  he  keeps  up  an 
elegant  establishment.  He  is  supposed  to  be  very  rich, 
but  he  wastes  money  in  various  ways,  and  no  one  can 
tell  how  long  his  resources  last.” 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


445 


Umph  ! a spendthrift — a defaulter — a bad  son  ! A 
charming  relative  to  claim,  upon  my  word ! I think  it 
will  be  better  for  allconcerned  to  let  this  man  rest  in 
the  shade  ; no  good  can  come  to  any  of  us  from  allow- 
ing him  to  know  in  what  relation  he  stands  to  Claire.” 

It  is  too  late  for  such  a course  as  that.  Claire  un- 
derstands her  claim  upon  him,  and  from  her  words  to- 
night I think  she  intends  to  enforce  it,  if  necessary.  I 
have  no  right  to  ask  her  to  forego  it ; and,  after  all, 
M.  Latour  is  her  brother.  We  have  no  power  to  with- 
hold her  from  him,  if  he  asks  her  to  go  to  him,  and  she 
consents.” 

“ She  will  never  do  that,  after  all  your  kindness  to 
her.” 

She  will  certainly  do  it,  if  you  attempt  to  breathe 
into  her  ears  a hint  of  your  insane  passion  for  her. 
Claire  is  a willful  and  impulsive  creature,  and  no  one 
can  tell  what  she  may  do  in  a moment  of  excitement. 
God  help  you  both  I for  you  are  alike  in  some  respects 
and  most  unfitted  to  bear  the  burden  of  life  together, 
even  if  she  would  listen  to  your  warning.” 

She  listen  to  it  yet,  and  give  back  love  for 
love,”  he  muttered  under  his  breath ; but  he  added 
aloud,  ‘‘  Good  night,  mother  ! I think  I have  listened  to 
enough  wisdom  for  one  lesson.  You  mean  kindly,  I 
know  ; but  I am  afraid  I am  not  as  grateful  as  I should 
be.  I will  promise  to  be  on  my  good  behavior  on  our 
voyage,  and  I have  too  much  to  occupy  me  before  it 
begins,  to  waste  much  time  in  thinking  of  Claire.” 

He  kissed  her  forehead  lightly,  took  up  his  candle 
and  went  to  his  own  room. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  sat  late  over  her  accounts,  but  her 
thoughts  were  not  with  them.  At  length  she  put  them 


446  the  clandestine  marriage. 


away,  and  slowly  moved  toward  her  own  apartment. 
She  could  not  refuse  the  deepest  sympathy  to  the  for- 
lorn creature  who  had  thrown  herself  on  her  compassion, 
but  she  had  not  quite  forgotten  or  forgiven  the  wilful 
disobedience  which  had  resulted  so  fatally  to  Claire  her- 
self. If  she  had  not  followed  the  bent  of  her  own  will, 
how  different  a fate  might  have  been  hers  ! Under  the 
fostering  care  of  her  maternal  friend  she  would  have  de- 
veloped into  sweet  and  gracious  womanhood ; in  time 
the  fervent  love  of  Andrew  might  have  won  its  reward, 
and  the  course  of  her  life  have  been  comparatively 
smooth. 

Andrew  had  his  faults  of  temperament  and  character, 
but  they  were  trifling  in  comparison  with  those  of  the 
man  Claire  had  so  implicitly  trusted,  only  to  have  her 
heart  broken  and  her  pride  trampled  in  the  dust.  Mrs. 
Courtnay  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  what  results 
might  follow  this  too  early  initiation  into  the  harshest 
realities  of  life  for  one  so  brilliantly  endowed  with 
beauty,  intellect  and  passion. 

That  Claire  would  not  remain  passive  under  the  hu- 
miliation and  suffering  that  brought  to  the  surface  all 
that  was  evil  in  her  nature,  she  felt  assured.  Into 
what  it  might  culminate  who  could  tell  ? And  her 
son,  the  darling  of  her  life,  had  set  his  heart  upon  this 
wayward,  unattainable  creature,  this  young  leopardess, 
who  only  veiled  her  claws  till  the  opportunity  for  a 
fatal  spring  upon  her  enemy  should  be  possible. 

Mrs.  Courtnay  might  be  pardoned  if  in  her  heart 
arose  the  wish  that  it  might  be  possible  to  shift  the 
responsibility  of  such  a fire-spirit  upon  the  brother 
on  whom  she  possessed  the  strongest  claim. 

It  was  late  before  she  slept,  but  she  was  "aroused  at 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


447 


an  early  hour  by  the  rapturous  exclamation  of  her  little 
girl  over  the  return  of  her  dearest  Claire.  Julia  rushed 
into  her  mother’s  chamber,  crying  : 

‘‘  Ob,  mamma — mamma,  Claire  has  come  back  ; but 
something  is  the  matter  with  her  ! She  don’t  laugh 
and  frolic  with  me  as  she  used  to.  She  took  me  in  her 
arms  and  cried  over  me,  but  I was  glad  to  see  her 
back  for  all  that.  Mammy  Betty  is  here,  and  I thought 
she  would  have  gone  crazy  with  joy  when  she  saw 
Claire  again.  But  where  has  she  been  all  this  time, 
and  where  is  Mr.  Thorne  ? I thought  he  was  coming 
back  with  her  ? ” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  looked  down  on  the  eager  face  of 
the  child.  She  sadly  replied  : 

“You  must  not  speak  of  him,  Julia — he  is  dead  to 
Claire  now.” 

“ Dead,  mamma  ! then  no  wonder  she  cried.  Oh,  I 
am  sorry  for  her — shan’t  I tell  her  how  sorry  I am  ? ” 

“No,  my  love;  that  would  only  distress  her  more. 
You  must  never  mention  Mr.  Thorne’s  name  to  her.” 

“ But,  mamma,  you  talk  of  my  papa — and  even  like 
to  do  it — and  he  is  dead,  too.” 

“ But  my  dear,  Claire  and  I are  not  alike.  I have 
been  alone  many  years  ; but  with  her  it  is  a new  and 
very  bitter  grief.  Don’t  ask  her  any  questions,  Julia. 
I am  sure  you  will  not  when  I tell  you  that  it  will  be 
unkind  to  do  so.” 

“ Well,  I’ll  be  good  then,  and  not  teaze  her — only  I 
hope  she  won’t  cry  over  me  much.  I had  much 
rather  she  would  romp  and  play  with  me  as  she  used  to 
before  Mr.  Thorne  came.  Oh,  mamma,  he  looked  so 
strong  and  handsome.  Does  God  take  young  people 
like  him  away,  too  ? I thought  only  old  people  are  apt 
to  die  ? ” 


448  the  clandestine  marriage.  ! 

‘‘  i\Iy  dear,  did  noi  Sally’s  baby  die  when  it  was  but 
a few  months  old  ? ” 

Y-e-s  ; but  then  it  was  such  a little  thing,  and  I 
heard  you  say  she  let  it  die  because  she  didn’t  attend 
to  it.  Claire  wouldn’t  let  Mr.  Thorne  die  that  way,  I 
knoAv.” 

Her  mother  scarcely  knew  what  reply  to  give  to 
this,  but  suddenly  the  voice  of  Claire  spoke  through 
the  half-open  door ; 

Come  with  me,  Julia,  and  give  mamma  time  to 
dress.  Let  us  visit  poor  old  Carlo’s  grave — ^you  prom- 
ised to  show  it  to  me.” 

The  child  sprang  away,  and  her  mother  heard  her 
talking  busily  as  the  two  crossed  the  hall  and  went 
forth  into  the  yard. 

The  faithful  old  dog  had  been  buried  near  a clump 
of  shrubbery  that  stood  on  a little  knoll  in  the  rear  of 
the  house,  and  Julia  had  induced  her  brother  to  carve 
out  a wooden  board  and  place  it  at  the  head  of  his 
small  grave.  Andrew  had  cut  the  name  of  ‘‘  Carlo  ” 
in  large  letters ; and  beneath  it,  in  tiny  characters, 
were  the  words  : 

“ A faithful  friend — slain  by  the  treacherous  hand  of  one  we  trusted.” 

As  Claire  stooped  over  to  read  the  inscription,  An- 
drew joined  them.  Before  he  could  utter  the  saluta- 
tions of  the  morning,  she  raised  her  head,  and  with 
flashing  eyes,  pointed  to  his  work,  as  she  haughtily 
asked  : 

“ Does  that  refer  to  me  ? You  carved  those  words, 
and  you  knew  nothing  of  him.  How  dared  you  sup- 
pose me  capable  of  hurting  poor  old  Carlo  ? ” 

With  fire  equal  to  her  own,  he  replied  : 

‘‘  The  dog  was  in  your  way,  and  he  was  poisoned. 


CLAIRE*  AT  HOME.  449 

Was  not  the  inference  a just  one,  that  you  had,  at  least, 
been  privy  to  his  destruction  ? ” 

‘‘  Oh,  brother,  don’t  say  that,”  cried  Julia,  “ for  you 
know  that  Claire  would  never  have  hurt  even  a hair  on 
poor  old  Carlo.” 

Andrew’s  ungovernable  temper  was  aroused  by  the 
anger  glare  in  Claire’s  eyes,  as  she  fixed  them  upon  him, 
and  he  defiantly  replied  : 

I don’t  know  that  at  all.  She  wounded  my  mother 
to  the  heart  by  eloping  with  a man  she  knew  little 
enough  about,  and  she  struck  a mortal  blow  at  mine  by 
giving  herself  to  him.  Yes  ; you  know  what  you  were 
to  me,”  he  passionately  went  on, — ‘‘  You  have  always 
known  it,  yet  you  forsook  those  that  loved  and  cared 
for  you,  to  go  off  with  a man  who  has  rewarded  you 
with  a worse  fate  than  was  given  to  the  poor  old  dog.” 

Claire  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst 
in  tears.  Julia  pulled  at  her  brother’s  hand,  and  whis- 
pered : 

“ Oh,  brother,  how  could  you  talk  to  her  of  Mr. 
Thorne.  He  is  dead,  you  know,  and  Rosebud  is  sorry 
about  him.” 

I would  to  God  he  were  dead,”  muttered  Andrew, 
as  he  approached  nearer  to  Claire,  and  tried  to  speak 
in  a gentler  tone. 

Don’t  mind  me,  Claire  ; you  know  mj  temper  al- 
ways gets  the  better  of  me.  I don’t  believe  that  ^ou 
put  Carlo  out  of  the  way,  or  that  you  even  knew  any- 
thing about  it.  The  same  ruthless  hand  that  has  crush- 
ed you,  gave  him  the  deadly  drug  that  killed  him. 
There — forgive  me — let  us  be  friends  again.” 

She  raised  her  face,  pale  with  the  conflict  of  passions 
that  rent  her  heart,  and  said  : I 

28 


450  the  clandestine  marriage. 


‘‘  On  two  conditions  I will  forgive  you.  They  are, 
that  you  never  again  refer  to  my  wretched  past ; that 
you  respect  my  position  sufficiently  to  refrain  from  any 
allusion  to  the  affection  you  profess  for  me.  In  the 
church  yonder,  I plighted  the  vows  that  shall  be 
binding  on  me,  if  they  have  been  broken  by  him  who 
pledged  his  in  return.  I am  a forsaken  wife,  but  still 
a tvife ; remember  that,  through  all  our  future  inter- 
course with  each  other,  or  we  shall  cease  to  be  friends.’’ 

She  walked  away  with  the  proud  bearing  of  an  in- 
sulted queen,  and  Andrew  stood  looking  darkly  after 
her,  internally  raging  at  the  words  she  had  just  utter- 
ed. Ho  clenched  his  hands,  and  muttered : 

‘‘We  shall  see.  Haughty  as  you  are,  you  shall  bend 
to  me  yet,  and  accept  the  love  I will  make  necessary  to 
you.  I will  win  3^ou  in  spite  of  yourself.” 

With  terrified  eyes,  Julia  looked  up  in  his  excited 
face,  and  then  slowly  asked : 

“ Why  do  you  look  so  angry,  brother  ? and  what  did 
Claire  mean  ? I don’t  know  why  3^011  should  quarrel 
with  each  other,  and  she  just  come  back  too.  T think 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  make  her  cry 
as  she  did.” 

“ Babies  like  you  have  no  right  to  think  about  any- 
thing,” he  roughly  ansAvered.  “ You  can’t  understand 
affairs  ; but  you  are  not  to  tell  mother  of  what  has  hap- 
pened here.  Do  you  hear  that,  Julia?  ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I hear  plainly  enough,”  replied  the  little 
lady,  offended  in  her  turn,  and  she  was  moving  away, 
when  Andrew  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  bending  over 
her,  significantly  said : 

“ You  had  better  heed  m3^  words,  too,  Julia.  I am 
not  trying  to  threaten  you,  child,  but  mother  would 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME.  451 

only  be  annoyed  to  know  that  Claire  and  I have  had  a 
quarrel,  and  it  will  be  best  not  to  tell  her  of  it.'  ’ 

‘‘  Then  I won’t  tell,  for  I don’t  want  to  trouble  her* 
Let  my  arm  go — I must  go  to  Claire,  and  try  to  make 
up  for  your  crossness.” 

Andrew  permitted  her  to  leave  him,  and  half  an  hour 
later,  the  four  met  at  the  breakfast  table.  Claire,  whose 
vivacity  and  grace  had  once  been  its  ornaments,  sat  like’ 
a sorrowful  phantom  beside  it;  she  made  an. effort  to 
talk,  but  soon  relapsed  into  vague  silence,  and  the  deli- 
cate viands  placed  before  her  seemed  to  offer  no  temp- 
tation to  her  appetite. 

Andrew  lowered  like  a thunder  cloud  ready  to  break 
into  electric  flashes,  and  but  for  Mrs.  Courtnay’s  deep 
compassion  for  the  unhappy  girl,  she  would  have  bit- 
terly regretted  the  necessity  that  brought  Claire  again 
beneath  her  roof,  and  threw  her  in  daily  contact  with 
her  son.  She  felt  her  inability  to  cure  Andrew  in  any 
way,  for  his  flery  will,  and  headlong  temper  had,  .even 
in  childhood,  been  beyond  her  control  ; now,  it  was 
hopeless  to  do  more  than  influence  him  when  he  was 
in  a tractable  mood. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  he  followed  his  mother  to 
her  morning  room,  and  curtly  said  : 

‘‘  I am  going  away  to-day,  and  I will  be  glad  if  you 
will  have  my  things  packed.  I am  not  willing  to  stay 
any  longer  in  as  gloomy  a dungeon  as  this  house  is, 
since  all  the  joy  and  life  went  out  of  it  with  Claire’s 
brightness.  I would  as  soon  eat  ‘ funeral  baked  meats,’ 
as  sit  at  the  table  with  her  again  till  she  becomes  more 
like  her  old  self.” 

Mrs.  Courtnay  was  glad  of  any  respite  from  his 
moodiness,  and  she  quickly  replied : 


452  the  cl andestuste  marriage. 


‘‘  It  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  my  son.  You  can 
make  a parting  visit  to  your  cousins  in  Lynchburg,  and 
return  here  in  time  to  t^scort  us  to  New  York.  With 
the  assistance  of  my  lawyer  and  overseer,  everything 
can  be  settled  to  my  satisfaction,  without  troubling 
you  at  all.” 

So  much  the  better,  for  I am  sick  of  the  monotony 
of  this  place,  and  I need  a change.  I haveLut  one 
charge  to  give  you,  mother,  and  that  is,  to  impress  on 
Claire  that  you  are  the  one  to  protect  her,  and  not  this 
unknown  brother  of  hers.” 

Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself,  Andrew,”  said 
his  mother,  impressively.  I shall  do  the  best  by 
Claire  that  is  consistent  with  the  higher  duty  I owe 
to  you.” 

Oh,  bosh  ! She’s  cut  me  twice  already  about  her 
fantastic  notion  that  she’s  bound  to  Thorne,  whether 
he  is  to  her  or  not ; and  I am  going  away  to  try  and 
forget  all  about  her.  I’ll  see  if  my  cousin  Emma  has 
grown  into  as  pretty  a girl  as  she  promised  to  become, 
and  maybe,  I shall  console  myself  with  her.” 

I only  hope  that  you  are  in  earnest,  Andrew,  for 
Emma  possesses  the  qualities  you  wiU  need  in  a wife 
when  you  are  old  enough  to  take  one.  She  is  gentle 
and  yielding,  and  she  would  be  to  you  what  I was  to 
the  father  you  so  strikingly  resemble — a spirit  of 
peace.” 

Andrew  regarded  her  a moment  in  silence,  and  then 
more  gently  said  : 

• ‘‘  It  is  hard  on  you,  mother,  to  have  a second  edition 
of  so  passionate  a man  as  my  father  was,  to  deal  with. 
I remember  his  fiery  and  impulsive  temper  very  well, 
but  you  bore  it  all  like  an  angel,  and  made  him  happy 


CLAIRE  AT  HOME. 


453 


in  spite  of  his  own  shortcomings.  I will  make  an  ef- 
fort to  do  what  will  please  you,  but  I have  many 
doubts  as  to  my  success.” 

“ Only  try  in  good  faith,  Andrew,  and  the  result 
will  be  all  that  I could  wish,”  replied  Mrs.  Courtnay, 
with  a sigh.  ‘‘  If  I possessed  with  you  the  same  in- 
fluence I once  wielded  over  your  father,  all  would  be 
well.  But  I fear  you  think  it  manly  to  rebel  against 
your  mother’s  authority,  and  set  her  wishes  at  defiance.” 

He  blushed  scarlet,  and  frankly  said : 

‘‘  Perhaps  there  is  some  such  silly  feeling  in  my 
heart,  but  indeed,  mother,  I have  the  highest  respect 
for  you,  and  I earnestly  wish  to  remove  from  you  3^our 
present  cause  of  uneasiness — therefore  I am  going 
away.” 

Thank  you  for  that  concession,  my  son,”  and  she 
kissed  him  tenderly.  Put  from  yourself  all  thoughts 
of  Claire — regal'd  her  as  utterly  beyond  your  reach, 
and  you  will  soon  gain  a victory  over  your  passion  for 
her.” 

Perhaps  so,”  was  the  vague  response  : I can  but 
_ try  at  all  events.  I am  going  now  to  order  my  horse, 
and  I shall  take  Caesar  with  me  to  bring  him  back 
from  S . I shall  be  sure  to  be  back  in  time  to  ac- 
company you  to  New  York.”  * 

Thus  it  was  settled,  and  Andrew  set  out  on  his 
journey.  After  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Courtnay  pursued 
her  preparations  for  departure  with  a lighter  heart ; 
Claire  endeavored  to  render  herself  useful  to  her,  and 
in  the  active  occupation  of  the  following  daj^s,  she 
grew  to  be  something  like  her  old  self. 

Her  health  became  stronger,  and  her  spirits  began 
to  revive,  though  at  times  she  was  plunged  into  the 
deepest  gloom  from  which  nothing  could  arouse  her. 


454  the  clandestine  marriage. 

At  such  seasons  she  roamed  alone  about  the  place, 
occasionally  extending  her  rambles  as  far  as  the  old 
ruins,  in  which  she  and  her  father  had  lived  together. 
But  these  visits  made  her  more  gloomy  than  before,  so 
she  gradually  confined  her  walks  to  the  domain  around 
the  Grange. 

Yet  every  spot  about  the  grounds  was  filled  with 
memories  of  Thorne,  and  if  she  had  wished  it,  she 
could  not  have  escaped  from  that  enthralling  past. 
But  she  did  not  wish  it ; to  him  all  her  thoughts 
turned; — to  find  the  means  of  reaching  him,  and  re- 
paying him  for  the  ruin  of  her  young  life,  was  her  one 
absorbing  dream,  and  soon  it  became  the  master  pas- 
sion of  her  undisciplined  soul. 

The  further  adventures  of  the  heroine  in  “ The 
Clandestine  Marriage  ” will  be  found  related  in 
the  sequel  to  this  work,  just  published,  under  the 
title  of  ‘‘The  Discarded  Wife;  or,  Will  Shb 
Succeed.” 


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